Reunion
by FraidyCat
Summary: Post-series, set in 2015. Character death - guess who? Angst on a platter. Story is completed and will be 15 chapters.
1. The Ties That Bind

**The Reunion**

**by FraidyCat**

_Disclaimer: Numbers characters and canon currently owned and formerly operated by CBS television._

**Timeline: **This is a post-series story, set five years into the future (the series ended in mid-2010; hence, the story takes place during 2015). Historical canon facts will be respected, but everything else is fair game. Not all characters will appear, as some were off making movies. Some characters will make cameo appearances only.

**...**

**Chapter 1: The Ties That Bind**

Alan sat at the kitchen table, jiggling Abagail on his knee. The toddler reached a chubby hand toward the coffee cup sitting on the table and he gently restrained her with his own hand. "Abby, no. That's grandpa's coffee; it's hot, sweetheart. You know that."

She nodded her blonde head seriously. Alan had never understood how two people with dark hair had produced a blonde, but there it was. Despite the hair, even strangers could see whose child this was. Thank God she had her mother's nose, and her daddy's curls. The long, wavy hair was much more presentable on a girl; Alan was grateful the genetics had all worked out. "Too hot," the child echoed, pulling her hand away from Alan's. She tilted her little head back a little and smiled, reaching instead to pat his cheek. "Okay, Poppa."

Alan smiled. Until recently, all he had done for the last three years was smile - because of this child. He had long known that he would love being a grandfather, but had been surprised at the intensity of the experience. He loved his own children ferociously - always had - but this child of his child? So long awaited, so eagerly welcomed? He had discovered an entirely new level of awe. He nuzzled his nose in her hair, inhaling the sweet baby scent like the nectar it was. "Okay, Abby," he answered, and she giggled.

"Poppa, I want more toast."

Alan glanced at his watch, took a sip of his now-lukewarm coffee, and carefully stood, Abby dangling from his arms. He shifted a little to perch her on a hip. She had been walking for well over two years - since she was only 10 months old - and usually preferred to find her own way. But the mornings were special times between grandparent and grandchild. Both were early risers; all of Abby's life, Alan had been the one to greet her in the mornings, lift her from her crib (bed, now), and get her dressed for the day. They would share a quiet breakfast, and then he would turn her loose on her parents: she would storm through their bedroom door and crawl into their bed, shouting "Mommy!" and "Daddy!" loudly enough to wake the neighbors. Sometimes, it even woke Charlie.

This morning, Alan especially craved the feel of her in his arms, and he was reluctant to put her down. With one hand, he stuck two more slices of bread into the toaster and depressed the lever. The other hand smoothed Abagail's hair as she rested her head on his shoulder. Understandably, she had been unusually quiet the last few days. "Grandpa's got to leave pretty soon," he shared quietly, "but you can eat your toast with Mrs. Anne, our neighbor. She's coming to stay with you for awhile, remember? We talked about it last night."

Abby seemed to consider for a moment, then lifted her head. "Will she bwing D-D?" DD was actually Deputy Dawg, a seven-pound Chihauhau who went almost everywhere with Anne and Bruce Mendolsohn. Abagail loved playing with him, and had always been surprisingly gentle with the tiny creature. Charlie and Amita had been talking about getting her a dog of her own. "She might," conceded Alan. "But maybe DD is staying with Mr. Bruce at their house." Abagail's eyes clouded and Alan couldn't take the expression of disappointment on her face. He never could; this one had him wrapped around her little finger before she was a full day old. "If Mrs. Anne doesn't bring DD," he suggested, "you can go to her house later and play with him. All right?"

She rewarded him with a smile. "Okie Dokie," she agreed. She began to wiggle in his arms, the signal that she wanted down. "Is it time for wakies, yet?"

Alan was ready for that one. "Daddy's already awake, sweetie. I heard him in the shower."

Abby persisted, pushing against his torso. "Mommy," she insisted.

Alan should have been ready for that one - but he never was. Stalling, he walked back to the table. He sat down and looked at the child's expectant face for almost a full minute, until she started trying to climb off his lap - and he heard the toast pop up. He tightened his grip a little. "Abagail," he said hoarsely. He stopped to clear his throat and started again, in a matter-of-fact tone. "Abby; remember, sweetheart? Mommy doesn't live here anymore. She's not upstairs."

The child's face darkened in fresh confusion, as if she hadn't heard the same information dozens of times already. "Make her come home."

Oh, Sweet Lord. How could a merciful God grant him this child, this desire and fulfillment of his heart, and then ask him to endure this heartbreak? He shook his head. "She can't, baby. Mommy would, if she could." He leaned toward her little face and lowered his voice to almost a whisper. "But if you try very hard, you can feel her. She is always with her baby girl, even when you can't see her. You are what she loves the very, very, best - and she is always here."

Abby sat quietly on his knee for a moment, then looked at him with trusting eyes. "Okay," she said simply.

Once again, Alan marveled at the simplicity and innocence of a very young child. "Okay," he responded, as he heard a brief tap sound at the kitchen door. He set the girl onto her feet, holding onto her until he could feel her settle into her legs. "There's Mrs. Anne," he said. "Go see if she brought DD."

Abby screeched and ran for the door, Alan following behind. Abby used both hands to twist the childproof knob cover - Alan reached out to help her, and together they pulled the door open. "DD!" she exclaimed happily.

Anne Mendolsohn smiled and placed the squirming animal on the kitchen floor. "Someone wanted to come play," she announced, then looked at Alan worriedly as the dog and the child ran through the kitchen and pushed through the swinging door into the house proper. "I hope it's all right," she said. "I almost didn't bring him today."

"It's fine," Alan assured her, ushering the woman inside and closing the door behind her. "Abby's already been asking for him. It will be a good distraction when her father and I...when we leave."

Anne smiled sadly, and nodded her head. "That's what Bruce said," she answered. "He's the one who talked me into bringing Deputy."

Alan winked. "Always a good idea to listen to your psychologist," he teased gently. "Even if he is retired."

Anne was rolling her eyes when Alan turned and caught sight of the toast. "Abby had some cereal, but she asked for more toast," he told his neighbor. "If she remembers, there's some in the toaster."

"Maybe Charlie will eat some?" suggested Anne almost timidly.

Now Alan rolled _his_ eyes. "Right."

As of on cue, the door swung open again, and Charlie entered the kitchen. He was resplendent in a dark, tailored suit, a dark navy button-down shirt - and an almost florescent pink tie. "Dad." He nodded at his father and their neighbor. "Anne, thank you for doing this."

She glanced quickly at Alan before she answered. "I'm very happy to help. I hope you don't mind that I brought the dog."

Charlie attempted a smile. "Of course not. Abby's in the solarium, telling him a story and trying to put doll clothes on him. I could barely get her to say 'Good Morning' to me."

Alan smiled. "There's some toast," he offered, "and hot coffee."

Charlie shook his head. "I'll eat later. You'd better get ready, Dad." He glanced down at his tie, then looked up again, and unsure expression on his face. "Is the tie okay? I mean, I know it's...pink...but it was a gift. From her. I wanted to wear it."

"It's perfect," stated Anne emphatically. "It's a perfect decision."

Charlie looked relieved. "Good. Thank you."

The three stood in an awkward silence until Alan mumbled something about getting ready and left. Anne started to go to the solarium to check on Abby, but paused when she reached Charlie. She lightly gripped his forearm. "I'll take Abby and DD over to my place in about an hour," she said quietly. "Bruce will watch her while I come back and straighten up a little; everything will be ready for guests by 11."

He nodded, not quite meeting her eyes. "Thank you. I...bought her a nice dress. Could you..."

"Of course," she interrupted. "I'll get her changed at my house before I bring her back home - around noon?"

"Yes," he confirmed. "Right. Yes. Right." He sighed, and his eyes suddenly filled with tears. "I really don't think I can do this."

Anne moved to fully embrace the professor. "You won't be alone," she whispered. "When it gets too hard, just look at your tie - and remember."

**...**

Robin straightened the knot of Don's dark maroon tie and patted his chest through the black dress shirt. "There," she announced. "Much better."

"Thanks," Don mumbled as he shrugged on his suit jacket. "Although I really doubt that Charlie would notice if my hair was on fire, let alone that my tie was crooked."

Robin smiled sadly and smoothed the skirt of her dress. "You never know," she answered. "We're not exactly normal during a time like this. Charlie might be obsessed with ties, today." She glanced one last time in the mirror, and winked at Don, who was standing behind her. "Besides. I can't have my husband at large in the general public improperly tied."

He finally grinned a little and stooped to wrap his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. "Your husband is properly tied forever. To you."

She titled her head. "Always good to hear."

Don maintained his position and sighed. "God, when I think what Charlie must be going through... I hope you really know how much I love you."

She reached up with one hand and stroked his freshly shaven face. "I do," she said quietly. "I love you, too."

The two of them stood silently for a few moments before Robin spoke again. "We need to go," she said gently.

Don's grip around her waist tightened. "I'm not sure I can," he answered.

She broke his hold and stepped away from him, turning at the same time so that they were facing each other. "For Charlie," she said simply.

Don's spine straightened and he pulled his shoulders back. He nodded. "I'll do whatever I can for him."

She smiled. "I know you will. And you will find whoever did this."

He slumped again. "I hope so. I still can't believe this happened. Amita hadn't even consulted for the FBI since before Abby was born. This might not even be an FBI case."

"She helped Charlie a lot before Abby," Robin argued. "This was no accident; it was intentional. It makes sense to look for a suspect in all the old cases they worked on. Even LAPD agrees."

Don looked as if he might vomit. "I hope we're all wrong," he said. "If it's an old case that they worked on together, then Charlie could be in danger as well. Abagail."

"More reason to find out who did this," Robin answered. "Will there be agents at the service?"

"Standard operating procedure," said Don. "We'll have Bureau agents and LAPD detectives watching the crowd for suspicious activity. And most of Colby's team will be there, of course."

"As mourners," Robin pointed out.

Don winced. "Yeah. Yeah. Colby and Liz have worked with Charlie for years. Scott's been part of the team for almost two years." He grinned again. "Did I tell you that Bettancourt is coming?"

Robin smiled. "No; I knew David was coming in from D.C., but you didn't tell me about Nikki."

The two started walking toward the bedroom door. "I was a little surprised myself," said Don. "She's only been with the Pittsburgh division a few months; she's using the only twoP-T-O days she has to fly in for the service. I didn't think she and Charlie were that close."

"They got a rough start," conceded Robin as Don escorted her out the door. She chuckled. "Nikki kind-of requires a rough start."

Don smiled. "You don't have to tell me."

Robin snatched the set of keys hanging on a hook next to the kitchen door. "She actually became quite a willing student for both of you," she remarked.

Don accepted the keys from her and locked up the house behind them. "True," he agreed. "We were just getting her broken in when she took off for Pittsburgh. It'll be good to see her again - and David. I haven't seen David since he was here on vacation almost four years ago."

"You should all get together later tonight, or tomorrow," suggested Robin. "Before Nikki goes back."

Don opened the car door for Robin and helped her inside. "Maybe," he answered quietly. "Charlie might need me."

**...**

Nikki shifted in the folding chair and whispered to Colby Granger. "I expected a lot of people — but, whoa!"

Colby loosened the knot of his tie, which he had meticulously knotted just an hour before. He looked around and shrugged. "Students. Faculty. Friends. We got agents here, but they're not going to see anything in this crowd."

Nikki agreed. "Will there be something smaller, later? For the family? Is there some Jewish thing?"

Colby shook his head. "Nah; this is it. Neither Charlie nor Alan is particularly religious - Don's the only one of the three of them even remotely involved in things Jewish. I'm not sure Charlie would have done anything at all, if CalSci hadn't offered to host and coordinate this service."

Nikki glanced at the professor, who sat silently between his father and Larry Fleinhardt. "At least he's here," she said. "I heard some stories about how he handled his mother dying, Don getting shot, other stressful situations - pretty sure this qualifies as stressful."

Colby snorted softly. "No kidding." He straightened in the chair. "Charlie's changed a lot since then; he's toughened up considerably. Don was worried for awhile that he was going too far in the other direction - until Amita was kidnapped. Remember that?"

"Duryea," Nikki said. "Yeah, I remember. Charlie was pretty shook up over that."

Colby suddenly lifted a hand and waved. "Here comes David," he said, and the relief was apparent in his voice. "His plane was late; he was afraid he wouldn't make it on time."

"Looks like he didn't even have time to change," Nikki said, noting Sinclair's open polo shirt and khaki pants. "Should fit right in with the student crowd."

Colby grinned, then nodded his head toward the right. "I see Liz and Scott over there; looks like they found each other."

Nikki shook her head. "Girl once told me that she couldn't stand that dude."

"They're still not best friends," Colby admitted. "I'm sure they wouldn't be sitting together if they had another option. Still, at least they trust each other in the field, now."

Someone dropped into the empty chair next to Nikki. "Didn't think you'd make it," he said.

"Ian!" she dimpled. "How are you?"

The sniper let his gaze roam the crowd. "Been better," he answered, sounding a little angry. "Sucks to be Charlie right now. Left alone to raise a little girl."

"He won't be alone," said Colby after a few seconds of silence. "He's got Don, and Alan, and all of us. Charlie's family, man - and nobody messes with family."

**...**

End, Chapter 1


	2. Musical Chairs

**The Reunion**

**by FraidyCat**

**Chapter 2: Musical Chairs**

David Sinclair sighed as he slid into the booth opposite his former partner. "What a day. I'm glad the hotel has a bar and I don't have to drive, tonight. I plan on getting drunk."

Colby pulled a credit card out of his wallet. "I'm opening a tab," he said. "Don made sure the team's not on call this weekend." He glanced at David and frowned. "I still say you shoudn't be staying in a hotel - you could've bunked with me."

David's white teeth flashed. "Dude, if you're opening a tab, you'll probably be bunking with me." He looked briefly to his left, then back to Colby. "Here come the girls," he said, sliding over in the booth.

Colby did the same, and soon Liz and Nikki were sitting beside them. David gently elbowed Nikki. "You and Edgerton seemed pretty cozy today. I thought he might come with you."

Liz smiled, and Nikki rolled her eyes. "We dated each other three times," she said, "and that was almost five years ago! Get over it, already!"

"Besides," Liz chimed in, "Ian had a red eye flight to Salt Lake; division there needs a sniper."

A waitress appeared at the end of the table, and Colby held out his credit card. "Bring us a couple of pitchers of draft, a couple of bottles of Kentucky bourbon," he said. "Keep 'em coming until one of us slides onto the floor. We need four shot glasses, four beer glasses."

"Five," said a deep voice from behind the waitress, and they craned their necks to see Don. "You got room for me in there?"

Nikki smiled and slid out of the booth. "Hey, former boss. Let me squeeze in next to Liz, and you can sit over here with David."

"Thanks, Nik." A subdued Don took his place in the booth and attempted a smile. "Good to see everybody. Thanks for showing up to support Charlie."

David tried to keep things light. "Hey; there's only one couch in my room. You and Colby need to decide who'd getting drunk."

Don held up a hand to high-five Granger over the table. "Both of us," he declared "Robin made me take a cab. Somebody just needs to be sober enough to pour me into another one later."

"You're so..._married_," Colby grumbled, rolling his eyes, and everyone laughed.

Don grinned. "That's not a bad thing, Granger. You should think about making an honest woman out of...oh, wait. You're alone."

The agents were still groaning when the waitress returned with their order, and they quieted down as she placed the pitchers and bottles in the center of the table. When everything was delivered, they each had a shot of bourbon. Then Nikki began to fill their glasses with beer. Don played with his empty shot glass, observing the surface of the table. "Did you guys see that plant Megan sent?"

No sense pretending there was no elephant in the room, thought David. "Yeah," he said after a sip of beer. "That was nice; she wanted to send something he and Abagail can plant out by the koi pond, later. She almost came with me, but she decided she'd wait a few months and come out for a couple of weeks. She said Charlie and Abby might actually need more help then, when everybody else has gone back to normal life."

Colby shifted uncomfortably. "You guys see each other much?"

David shrugged. "Not as often as we'd like. She's based in DC, at the Federal Bureau of Prisons, but she travels a lot."

Nikki had heard of Megan, but never actually met her. "What's she do for the BOP?"

"She designs, implements and oversees inmate skills development and psychology services program for female federal prisoners," David answered. "She's always off to some federal prison somewhere."

Colby poured himself and Don another shot. "Whatever happened with her and Fleinhardt?"

Don looked at David, a question in his eyes. "Now that Larry's teaching at Georgetown, they're fairy close, geographically..."

David grinned and shook his head. "Hey, I don't go there. Like I said, Megan and I only see each other a couple of times a year as it is. All I know is that she's never brought Larry - or anybody else - to dinner."

Colby waggled an eyebrow.. "And who are you taking to dinner?"

David held out his empty beer stein. "I'm busy. I average 60 hours a week heading the task force, and I don't want to date someone on the job."

There was an awkward silence until Liz spoke. "I've heard that can get a little messy," she interjected drily.

Don sputtered beer into his glass and the other agents chuckled. Colby grabbed the cell phone from his belt, frowning. "We're not on call," he muttered. An expression of surprise settled on his face and he held up a hand for silence. He looked at Don. "It's Charlie."

Don winced, and Colby held the phone to his ear. "Hey, Charlie." He listened for a few seconds. "Are you sure you want to do that right now?" he asked gently, and Don watched him intently. "At least wait until Monday," Colby suggested. "We'll all be back in the office then, and we can hear the latest information." He listened a few more seconds. "I'll see you Monday morning, then. Let me..." he hesitated. "Call me anytime," he finally said quietly, and flipped the phone closed. He placed it on the surface of the table and grabbed his shot glass. "I need a drink."

David pushed the bottle of bourbon toward Colby and Don waited until Colby's glass was full before he asked. The glass was only halfway to Colby's mouth when he couldn't stand it any longer. "Well?"

Colby sighed, gulped the entire shot, and slammed the glass back onto the table. "He wants to hear what we've got on the case."

"Yeah, he was asking me earlier," Don said. "I told him your team was going over all the cases she worked on - but she hasn't worked with the bureau in over three years. It's a long shot that Amita's shooting even had any connection to her FBI work."

"Except that we know it was professional," Nikki pointed out. "Long-range, sniper accuracy; Ian talk to you, Granger?"

"Yeah; he offered to take some vacation time to work on this, as soon as he's done in Utah. He's hoping to be back by mid-week."

David cleared his throat. "I've got some vacation time coming myself," he said. "I know Nikki hasn't been replaced yet, and Scott's still a rookie." He glanced at Don. "Maybe the Assistant Director could temporarily assign me to the team," he suggested.

Don was close to overwhelmed. Since Amita was killed, his emotions had been a lot closer to the surface. "The Assistant Director would have to clear that with the Regional Director," he hedged.

Colby leaned forward over the table. "The hell you say." The other agents looked at him with varying degrees of surprise and foreboding. "The fact that Director Wright is letting us work this case at all is a pretty strong statement about where he stands. And logistics like transfers and temp assignments are part of _your_ job, Mr. Paperwork, home-at-five-every-night."

Liz interrupted. "David's second-in-command can take over the task force in DC; send them Scott to fill out the team. Trade."

Nikki glanced at Colby. "See? Girl can't stand the dude."

"That's not true," blushed Liz. "I just think it could work for everybody. Scott grew up in DC, he's familiar with the area."

"Let me at least keep Wright in the loop," responded Don. He looked at David. "You sure you want to do this?"

David answered simply. "It's Charlie, man."

Don nodded once, and turned his attention to Colby. "What time is Charlie coming Monday? Maybe I can arrange for some business to bring me to the bullpen around then."

**...**

End, Chapter 2


	3. Ramanujan Task Force

**The Reunion**

**by FraidyCat**

**Chapter 3: Ramanujan Task Force**

Luminous dark eyes shown with unshed tears. Abby's bottom lip quivered dangerously. "Poppa said I could."

Alan placed a steaming bowl of oatmeal in front of Charlie. "Abagail Marie," he asked firmly, "what did Grandpa say, exactly?"

The bottom lip quivered again. If Grandpa was using all of her names, things were not looking good. "That I could if Daddy said so," she answered in a tiny voice. She followed her confession with a mighty sniff, and pushed farther into her father. "Please?"

Charlie picked up a spoon and contemplated his oatmeal. "Abby, maybe Mrs. Anne will bring DD over here, later. Daddy has to go somewhere this morning, and I want you to stay here. Safe. With Grandpa."

"Don't frighten her," Alan said softly as he moved to sit opposite his son.

Charlie replaced the spoon on the table. "I'm not trying to frighten her," he answered loudly, exasperated. "I'm trying to keep her safe!"

Abby pulled away from Charlie, ran to her grandfather, buried her head on his knees, and burst into tears. Alan made a clucking noise and reached to lift her onto his lap.

Charlie noisily scooted his chair away from the table and stood. "Don't coddle her!" he shouted. "She can't..." he paused, and then stopped. He listened to the sobs of his child echoing in the kitchen. "Oh my God," he said, sinking slowly into his seat. He looked helplessly into his father's eyes; Abby's head was cradled on Alan's shoulder, and he was patting her on the back. "I'm sorry. Dad...Daddy didn't mean to yell, sweetheart. I'm sorry."

Alan's heart went out to his child. He peeled the little girl from his shoulder and settled her on his lap. "Abagail," he encouraged gently. "Daddy is speaking to you."

Cautiously, the now-hiccuping toddler glanced at her father. "Can I play with DD?"

Charlie almost said 'yes'; and then he heard Amita's voice telling him that they had to present a united front, and stick to their decisions, if they had any hope of raising a child who wasn't spoiled. He kept his voice soft and nonthreatening. "Daddy said 'no', sweetheart. You cannot go to Mrs. Anne's this morning. We'll call her later, when Daddy gets home, and ask her to bring Deputy Dawg for a visit."

"That's very fair," interjected Alan. "Abby, don't you think Daddy is nice to let you play with DD later?"

Abby nodded her head. "Thank-you, Daddy."

Charlie almost smiled. "You're welcome, my sweet." He stood, again, oatmeal untouched. "Now, Daddy has to go. Give me a kiss good-bye."

Tears forgotten, Abagail scrambled from Alan's lap and ran to her father. Charlie leaned to scoop her up and planted a kiss on her button nose. Abby giggled and ducked her head into Charlie's chest. "Abby go with Daddy."

Charlie stiffened, and glanced at Alan again. After a few moments, he walked toward his father, carrying the child. "Grandpa will get lonely," he said. "Do you want Grandpa to be all alone?" He carefully lowered the girl into Alan's ready arms.

She settled happily on his lap again and leaned her head back against his chest. "Can we make cookies?"

"That sounds like an excellent idea," Alan said. "You and I will make Daddy's favorite cookies." He looked pointedly at Charlie. "Maybe he'll eat oatmeal if we put it into a cookie."

Abby giggled, and Charlie rolled his eyes. "Don't forget the raisins."

**...**

Don glanced at his watch and straightened the stack of papers in front of him. He stood, stretched the kinks out of his back, and strode to the outer office. "I'll be in the bullpen," he said to his secretary, then continued on to the elevator. He was always ready to set aside paperwork. Much as he appreciated more regular hours and a reduced injury rate, two years after being kicked upstairs, he still wasn't sure the increased paperwork was an even trade.

The doors of the elevator slid open to reveal Charlie already inside. Don smiled and stepped into the lift. "Hey, bro," he greeted. "Thanks for coming up to get me before your meeting with Colby. How's it going?"

Charlie offered a wobbly grin. "Well, I yelled at Abby this morning, made her cry, and somehow ended up with a promise for homemade cookies when I get home, anyway."

Don's smile widened. "You'd think having a 'wounded puppy' gaze all her own would make Abby immune to that look."

"She does not, as yet, understand the power of the wounded puppy," Charlie answered.

"Well, good luck when she figures it out."

"That's what Dad says," mumbled Charlie.

Don snickered. The elevator was almost at their destination. "Robin and I were wondering when Abby can spend the night again," he said. "We all want things to be as normal as possible for her."

Charlie stiffened as the elevator slowed. "Abby's going to grow up without a mother," he snapped. "Normal is no longer an option."

The doors began to slide open, but Don quickly depressed the 'close doors' button. "I said _'as normal as possible'_, he pointed out quietly. "Not having Amita in her life will never be right, I know that. But that's a good reason to keep Robin _in_ Abby's life, isn't it? She needs a close female role model. Besides, we love having her."

"No one understands," Charlie said, running a hand through his hair. "She has to be where she's safe. If, if Amita had just stayed at home that day, if she had only have stayed where she was safe..."

Don moved closer to his brother and dropped a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, hey," he said softly, kneeding at the tension in Charlie's shoulder, "you know that's not true. Whoever did this was determined enough to get around it, even if Amita never left the house. And I'm in charge of the Los Angeles bureau of the FBI, Buddy; I think I can keep one three-year-old safe."

Charlie inhaled a shaky breath, calming himself. "This is a three-year-old with the patented 'wounded puppy' stare," he finally said.

Don laughed. "I've had years of practice dealing with that," he responded, pushing the button to open the elevator doors. "Come on; let's go see what Colby's got."

Don directed Charlie to one of the conference rooms. Charlie paused in the doorway, looked around, and finally settled his questioning gaze on Don. "What is this?"

Don placed one hand on Charlie's back and indicated the people in the room with the other. "This is your team," he informed his brother. "The Ramanujan Task Force. David and Scott traded assignments for awhile, so David could stay here in LA. Larry doesn't need to be back at Georgetown until after summer break; almost two months. Bruce Mendolsohn is making himself available as a consulting psychologist. Lt. Gary Walker is our LAPD liaison. Robin will make sure that none of us let emotion get the best of us, and we end up with a prosecutable case."

"And you're stuck with me and Liz," put in Colby, who was perched on the end of the table. "Nikki tried to wrangle a leave out of the A.D. in Pittsburgh, but it was no go."

"It was all we could do to talk her out of quitting," Liz put in from her position near the water cooler.

"Ian is in Salt Lake today, but he plans to be back by midweek," continued Don. "He'll join us then. Director Wright intends to spend a lot of time in the LA office; he'll take on some of my A.D. responsibilities, so that I can spend as much time as possible with the Ramanujan Task Force." He could feel Charlie shaking beneath his hand, and Don increased the pressure of his touch.

Charlie's eyes were glistening when he turned toward Don. Looking at the floor, he spoke to everyone in the room. "I...Abby and I...can't express what this means to us. I can't believe you're all doing this..."

Colby pushed off the table and moved to stand directly in front of Charlie. He waited until the professor looked at him before he spoke. "It's been a few years since we worked together, but Amita was part of this...sometimes dysfunctional family." There were a few soft chuckles, and Colby waited for the others to quiet. "You've been consulting for almost 10 years, Whiz Kid; you're one of us. We watched you two fall in love, get married - we've known Abagail all her life. We'll find out who did this to Amita."

Charlie was shaking harder, now. Don could tell that his brother was about to lose what control he had. "There's more," he said, interrupting Colby, and both Agent Granger and Charlie looked at him. Don forced himself to grin and rolled his eyes. "Dad says he's the most important part of the team, since he's got Abby."

The corner of Charlie's mouth turned up slightly. "He's right."

**...**

He sat on a bench in a quiet park and studied the picture in the week-old newspaper. She had been a pretty woman. He had targeted her in the first place because he had noticed her in the produce aisle. Like most folks nowadays, she had become a creature of habit so that she could fit everything into her busy life. It hadn't been difficult to stalk her.

He had followed her, in fact, longer than was necessary; but he enjoyed watching her, and knowing that soon none of her frantic busy-ness would matter. Sometimes she was alone, but often she had an old man or a cherubic child, a blonde little girl, with her, and there were times she was with a man who had to be her husband. His attitude toward her was proprietory; they held hands, kissed...it was disgusting. Not for the first time, he wished that he could target two people in the same family - but that was dangerous. Links between victims created patterns, and patterns could be followed.

No, he would have to let the annoying man go. At least he could draw comfort from the fact that he had ruined the man's life. He needed to pick someone new - and he needed to be smart about it, and take his time. He'd already avoided detection for almost five years by being careful.

No reason to stop now.

Still...the last one had been very pretty.

**...**

End, Chapter 3


	4. Details

**The Reunion**

**by FraidyCat**

**Chapter 4: Details**

Colby waited until everyone had taken a seat at the table. Then he leaned forward and tapped a stack of folders in front of him. "So this is what we've got," he began. "Charlie started consulting for Don's team in 2005. He started bringing in Amita on cases during 2006. He also brought in Larry a lot, and various students or colleagues - like Oswald Kittner and Ray Galuski. In short, Charlie's worked hundreds of cases, but Amita only consulted on a few of them, especially the first few years.

"By the middle of 2011, Amita was becoming a fairly active consultant; she had even worked some cases Charlie wasn't part of. She was..." he looked at Charlie. "What? About six months pregnant with Abby?"

Charlie nodded, and visibly swallowed. "She developed severe pre-eclampsia and was hospitalized for almost two weeks. She spent the remainder of the pregnancy on bedrest." He avoided meeting anyone's eyes and looked instead at the surface of the conference table. "That was scary," he said softly. "We almost lost Abby."

Don winced, and Colby continued his discourse, nodding. "Right. Obviously, Amita stopped all forms of consulting and avoided as much stress as she could, so Charlie never bothered her with details when he was working on something for us." He smiled suddenly. "By the time Abby was born - squalling and healthy, thank God - Amita had decided she was calling it quits for good, as far as consulting was concerned."

Charlie spoke up again. "She wanted to keep teaching, and researching; there's hardly enough time for anything with a baby in the house. Something had to give."

He sounded a little defensive, and Colby hurried to agree with him. "I'm sure you're right," he said. He addressed everyone at the table, and tapped the folders again. "So Amita consulted about five years, but she only worked on 43 different cases over those years."

David reached for a folder. "This all of them?"

Colby shook his head. "No; that's 2009. Liz and Scott already looked at the few cases from 2006 and 2007, before Scott took off for DC. I'm working on 2008 - I'm about halfway through them."

Sinclair nodded, and passed the folder to Don, taking another from the stack. "I got 2009," he offered. "I was still in LA then, so I'll remember the details." He glanced at Don. "Don can help me when he's available?"

Don nodded. "Absolutely. We looking for the usual suspects?"

"Yeah," Colby confirmed. "Concentrate on perps who were convicted, especially any who might be out already or are known to have powerful prison contacts. Interview anyone local; talk to parole officers and wardens for the rest. Who's still holding a grudge? Did any of them make threats at the time of conviction?"

"I can start on 2010 now," Liz interjected. "Files still on your desk?"

Colby nodded. "There aren't very many for 2011; she only consulted for half the year. I'll get on those when I'm finished with 2008."

Don looked at Liz across the table. "You and Scott find anything so far?"

She frowned, and shook her head. "No. Most of the perps are still inside, and none of them are behavioral problems. Most of the ones who have been paroled have left the Los Angeles area. A few were bitter about their convictions, but no one mentioned Amita or even Charlie by name; they blame the people who testified against them, or the Bureau."

"That's something we'll have to consider," interjected Colby. "Someone might have done this in order to punish Charlie - or even Don. If we don't get anything from Amita's files, we might have to start investigating every case the two of them worked on."

"Oh, dear." Larry spoke for the first time. "Won't that take quite some time?"

Gary Walker emitted a tiny snort. "Longer than anyone in this room will be alive."

There was an awkward silence, and Larry began to play with one ear. "If it comes to that, perhaps I can develop some sort of search algorithim. We'll come up with a set of parameters and narrow the suspect field. You know, eliminate deceased individuals, things of that nature."

"Good idea," Colby agreed. "In fact, why don't you just go ahead and get started on that - we'll probably have to use it. Come to lunch with David, Liz and I; we'll start working on the parameters."

"Of course," Larry murmured.

Colby shifted in his chair. "Edgerton's going to call me tonight and let me know when he'll be back," he informed the room. "When he gets here, he'll go to..." he glanced quickly at Charlie, then to Don, who nodded almost imperceptibly. "He wants to see the shooter's nest," Colby continued quickly. "Study the location." He looked next toward Walker. "He'll want to see everything we've got, including all the LAPD reports."

Lt. Walker lifted his own file from the table in front of him. "Got copies with me," he said. "Everything from the initial 9-1-1 call to now. I'll bring by anything new that comes in." He slid the folder down the table toward Colby.

Bruce Mendolsohn had been watching Charlie, who had paled considerably at the mention of a shooter's nest. Now the white-haired man stood. "I'd just like to make myself available to you all," he said. "I worked with LAPD when I was still practicing, and can provide some initial profiling as you identify suspects." He tried to make eye contact with as many people in the room as he could. "I'm also available for private discussions. This case is very difficult for you all, and involves people you care about deeply. Of course there are FBI counselors you can speak to as well, but if you would prefer, for whatever reason, to come to me, please don't hesitate." There were smiles and murmured 'thank yous' as Mendolsohn took his seat again.

"Is that all there is?" Charlie's disappointed voice suddenly asked. "It's been a full week. One hundred and seventy-two hours..."

Don draped an arm around the back of Charlie's chair. He spoke quietly. "We've got a good start, Buddy, and a good team. A plan." His voice grew even softer in tone, and he was speaking only to his brother. "You need to let us do our jobs, and you need to do yours - with Abby. Maybe the two of you should get away."

Charlie looked at him, a horrified expression on his face. "I can't leave before we find this guy! What if you need something!"

"We'll handle it the way we always do when you're traveling," Don answered. "There are telephones and computers. Plus, Larry's here to help us."

Charlie still looked unconvinced. "I'll think about it," he finally said. "I don't know what difference it would make. Amita will still be gone when we get home."

**...**

Don absently smoothed Robin's silky black hair and shifted on the couch, nearly dislodging his wife from her position against him.

"Hey!" she protested mildly, shifting with him. "Maybe you should have gone to Alan's man cave and watched a game with him, if Spencer Tracy is boring you."

He smiled. "It's not that. You know I love watching old movies with my own little Katherine Hepburn."

She reached toward the remote. "We _have_ seen this one a few dozen times," she conceded. "Would you like to watch something else?"

He grabbed her hand with his own, brought it to his mouth, and kissed her trapped fingers. He rested their intertwined hands on Robin's stomach. "No, sweetie, this is good." He sighed. "I was just thinking about Charlie. I was hoping I would be able to help out the team more, today."

"You've got a great bunch of people assembled," she noted. "What was it you said to Charlie? Let them do their jobs?"

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled. He squeezed her hand. "By the way, thanks for coming today. I know you didn't say much - your contributions will be more necessary after we've got a suspect - but I think it made a big impression on Charlie, to physically see all the people in his corner."

"I hope so," she murmured. "I was happy to be there. I wish I could do more for him."

"He and I talked a little about how important a female role model for Abby is now," Don said. "You up for that?"

She smiled. "Of course I am, G-man! You have to ask?"

Don pulled her closer against his chest. "You've always been great with her, babe. I just don't want you to...you know...start regretting having to spend so much time around a child."

Robin pulled away from him, extricated her hand and moved so that she was facing him on the couch. Her expression was sincere and she touched Don's face as she spoke. "First of all, I don't _'have'_ to be around Abby. I choose to, and I love every minute of it. Secondly: we were both pushing 40 when we got married, and that was five years ago. It's not unusual that I haven't been able to get pregnant. You read the research - even in vitro doesn't always work."

"We could try again," Don offered. "I know it's a lot of money, but we could swing it. Maybe a second mortgage."

She smiled, leaned forward to kiss him softly, then sat back. "Don, we've talked about this before, and I meant what I said. A child from my body would be great - but having Abby in my life has taught me that love isn't biological. When Abby's more settled, we can think about going back on the adoption lists, and I will love whichever child is meant for us." She frowned. "Are you having second thoughts?"

"No, no," he reassured her. "But like you said, we're not getting any younger, and we could be on a list for years. I'd like to be able to play catch - or at least walk - when he gets here."

She quirked an eyebrow. "You can play catch with HER, Old Man."

He grinned, but wasn't deterred from the subject. "Maybe we should reconsider private adoption."

Robin's face darkened and her eyes flashed with pain. "I can't go through that again. I thought he was ours, for months. I still have ultrasounds of him. I was in the delivery room; I was the first person to hold him!"

Don reached out to pull her toward him again, and wrapped his arms around her as she rested her head on his chest. "Ssshhh, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I brought it up. I just want you to be happy."

"I _am_ happy," Robin's muffled voice said. "If I never have a child, I'll still be happy. There are children in my life, and you are by my side. That's enough for me."

Don blinked, and watched Spencer Tracy plant a gentle kiss on Katherine Hepburn. His voice was husky when he responded. "It's enough for me, too; you're more than I deserve. I love you."

"Shut up," she whispered, lifting her head and capturing his lips with her own...and Spencer Tracy blushed.

**...**

End, Chapter 4


	5. Shooter's Nest

**A/N: Leaving town for a long weekend, so I am giving you this special bonus chapter, which is fairly brief. Perhaps another will follow, if you ask nicely.**

**...**

**The Reunion**

**by FraidyCat**

**Chapter 5: Shooters' Nest**

Ian Edgerton stood in the small clearing and looked at the ground, then at the enlarged photo in his hand. "Looks like a herd of elephants passed through here," he said sarcastically. "At least CSI got some good photos before that happened." He shoved the photos at Granger and grabbed a rifle scope from the agent's other hand at the same time. He brought the scope to his eye and studied the view.

Colby moved to stand behind him. "So? What do you see?"

Ian lowered the scope and turned to face the agent. His voice was all business. "This was no random shooting," he stated. He jabbed a finger at the photos in Colby's hand. "The ground is undisturbed; he didn't spend a lot of time moving around and scouting out possibles." He handed Colby the scope and turned back around. "Take a look at the view. That's a long range tactical rifle scope, made for military use. What do you see?"

Colby handed the photographs back to Ian and looked through the scope. "Reminds me of the good old days," he said. "Whoa. I didn't use anything like this in Afghanistan. How'd you get your hands on this?"

"I do some testing for Tasco," Ian shrugged. "Charlie's not the only consultant out there."

Colby chuckled. "Man. If I hadn't been driving for half an hour, I would think we're in the parking lot of that Burger King."

"Look to your left a little," Ian advised. "See it yet?"

Colby looked for a few more seconds, then emitted a low whistle. "Son of a...is that our crime scene? The grocery store where Amita was shot has gotta be what? Two miles, as the crow flies?"

"Yep," Ian confirmed. "Maybe a little less. It would take us at least half an hour to drive down the mountain and around all the land obstacles and traffic. I'm a little impressed that you guys found the nest," he admitted grudgingly.

"Charlie," said Colby, lowering the scope. "He was a man possessed that night, there was no way we could keep him away from the investigation." He shuddered. "He even went to the scene to test out some trajectory theories. Don about blew a gasket. When Amita was kidnapped by Duryea, and Charlie didn't know if she was still alive, he had a hard time keeping his focus. But this time...man, Ian, I've never seen him like that. It was almost as if he thought helping us find the nest would bring her back. Don called it his 'P vs NP' mode. Alan finally had to wake Abby up and put her on the phone. When Charlie heard her voice, it seemed to shock him back into reality. He hit his knees, right in the middle of the bullpen, started...keening, I guess you'd call it. Scared the shit out of Abby. Me too, actually."

Ian shook his head. "Sounds brutal. Whoever this was knew exactly where she would be, and when she would be there; most likely stalked her for weeks. He's probably a ex-military sniper; even law enforcement snipers don't ordinarily shoot at this range. He needed some very specific equipment. We can check with gun stores, military outlets; you can't just walk into a sporting goods store and buy a scope like this - or a rifle like the one he had to use."

"What if he didn't buy it in LA?"

"Chances are good that he did," said Ian. "His target was here, and he stalked his prey long enough to learn her schedule. Getting that kind of firepower across state lines is a problem. Still, it's pretty specialized stuff; even if we have to expand the search, it will still be doable. Especially if Fleinhardt finds a way to make it easier."

Colby nodded. "Good. We'll go back to the office, and you can get him started on that." He started pushing through the bushes toward his sedan.

"Hey!" grumbled Ian, following behind. "What did I do? How come I get stuck trying to speak geek?"

"It's on your resume," Colby shot back over his shoulder. "Your file says that you're bilingual."

**...**

Charlie leaned against a driftwood log and watched his daughter. Her sand castle was actually just several bucketsful of sand turned upside down in a haphazard arrangement completely devoid of pattern. It was a great relief to him, Abby's normalcy. When he had been her age, he would have spent most of his day designing the castle, and determining optimal location based on data he didn't quite understand yet, but most children didn't even know existed: things like tide tables and wind velocity.

She would be four in just four more months. He had been surprised, and more than a little frightened, when Amita wanted to get pregnant just a few months after their 2010 marriage. They had just returned from three months in England when she brought up the idea. She argued that they should act sooner rather than later; they were both in their thirties, settled in their careers, and would never feel truly prepared. Charlie wasn't opposed to children, and it seemed to mean so much to Amita — he had gone along with her, and three months later she was pregnant. He wondered now if she had somehow sensed that her time was limited. When the pregnancy had turned difficult and they had almost lost Abby, Charlie realized how in love he was with her already, and how much he wanted to be a father. She finally arrived, blessedly healthy, and so far, blessedly normal.

The object of his musings suddenly crashed onto his knees, and a small plastic bucket hit him closer to the crotch than he thought was safe. "Daddy! My castle needs a pwincess!"

Charlie looked warily at the mounds of sand. "Where will she sit?"

Abby gave a great, three-year-old sigh. "On her throne." She pointed. "Over there."

Charlie winked at his daughter. "I knew that," he said. He looked around at the pile of beach towels and toys, remembered something, and grabbed the nearby carryall. He started digging through sippy cups, snacks, extra clothes, and more toys. "Remember, we stopped at the store on the way to the beach?" At last he hooked his fingers in the creature's hair, and he ceremoniously pulled a small doll from the bag. "Maybe that's why you picked out this dolly. Is she a princess?"

Abby had entirely forgotten about the new toy her father had bought for her that morning in the grocery store. Ordinarily, her parents didn't cater to her every whim. Now, her eyes lit up and she reached out to snag the little doll. "Pwincess Pokey!" she shouted. Her bare feet scrambled for purchase in the sand until Charlie gave her a boost; then she ran to her castle and shoved the doll into one of the sand piles. She looked back triumphantly at Charlie. "There! Take a picture. We'll show mommy."

Charlie ducked his head and started scrounging in the bag for his digital camera, mostly so that Abby wouldn't see his face. It was too much. Amita would miss too much. Abby would miss too much.

He took a deep breath, and thought until he heard Abby shouting again. "Hurry, Daddy! I'm hungwy!"

Charlie looked up, smiled and brandished the camera. "Got it, baby. Stand next to Princess...Princess Pokey."

Whenever Abby wanted, he decided, whenever it was important - he would take pictures. Together they would make a book for Amita, full of photos, and stories, and pieces of Abagail's life. Maybe Amita would never see it, but Abby should know that her mother would want to share every experience, if she could.

He zoomed the camera lens and focused on Abby's smile.

Who knew? It still felt as if Amita was part of them. The feeling might not have been a reality based in science, but it was a knowledge based in love. He would always feel her, he would always see her in Abby's eyes; in every sunset. Maybe it wasn't too much to hope for...that Amita could see them, too.

**...**

He knew that it was wrong. He knew that it was a waste of his time. He couldn't do anything to either of them; it was too risky. But for days, he hadn't been able to stop himself.

He had seen them both, of course, while he was following the woman. They had seemed a happy family - but it certainly wasn't the first happy family he had divided. Always before, he had completed the ritual at the funerals. He always attended the memorials, and watched the bereaved families. It was such a joy, such a reward for all his hard work. He often had to remind himself not to smile. When the services were over, he would go home (eventually; sometimes home was several days away), pack up all the photos and newspaper clippings into a neatly labeled shoebox, stack the shoebox with the others in the closet of the spare bedroom, and go about his life until it happened again.

He didn't ordinarily go out looking for his victims; he didn't even know how long a time would pass between them. After he shot the child, it was almost eight months before he saw the jean-clad cowboy on the street, and knew that he was next. He had followed that one to Montana, disassembling the rifle and packing the parts in various pieces of luggage, and hidden car compartments, just in case he was stopped. In five years, he had passed many state lines, and never come even close to detection — but he was always as careful as he had been that first time. A mission such as the one he pursued required careful planning and attention to detail. This last one had discombobulated him, though. He was oddly fascinated with the curly-haired man, and the blonde child. He had fought the urge to keep following them; for the first time he had gone out and intentionally looked for someone else. After only a few days he gave up, and found himself back in Pasadena. He had arrived at the house just in time to watch the man throw a suitcase into his car, bundle the child into a car seat, and back out of the driveway: the old man had stood in the kitchen doorway, a sad expression on his face, waving.

Before he completely understood what he was doing, he was following them down the street. Thank God they were both heading North; in his unprecedented and unpredictable state, he might have risked a highly visible U-turn. He had followed them for hours; all the way to a Hampton Inn in Crescent City, passing on by when they turned into the parking lot. He was nervous the entire three hours he waited to go back. After coffee at McDonald's, a matinee showing of a movie he couldn't remember, and a quick stop at a Goodwill for some clothes and supplies, he had returned to the hotel, relieved to see that the car he had followed was still there. Once he checked into the hotel himself, finding them again was easy. They were at the first place he looked: the pool. The girl was splashing in the shallow end, her father never more than a foot away from her.

It was a small town, a small hotel; it wasn't unusual for them to run into each other a great deal - in the restaurant, on the expanse of beach behind the hotel, in the lobby - not that the curly-haired man was in any shape to notice the repeated coincidences. Still, he should be careful. He would give himself this gift: this weekend of watching them. On Monday, whether they left or not, he would head back to Los Angeles. He would pull himself together.

But she was such a pretty child.

**...**

End, Chapter 5


	6. Undertow

**The Reunion**

**by FraidyCat**

**Chapter 6: Undertow**

Don was slightly out of breath when he pushed into the conference room. "Sorry," he huffed. "Rice fired his weapon last night." He frowned. "When I think about all the times I fired my weapon in the field, I want to apologize to Wright for inflicting all that paperwork."

Colby smiled from his position on the far side of the table. "Not gonna hold my breath on that one."

David, sitting opposite Agent Granger, grinned. He turned his head to speak to Don over his shoulder. "You're not late. Liz is taking her sweet time down in Forensics."

"I think she likes that little CSI dude," Colby guessed. "You know the one. Talks about his cats a lot?"

Don arched an eyebrow and was saved from responding when the agent in question hurried into the room, nearly barreling right into him. "Woah," breathed Liz, careening around Don's bulk and circling around to the end of the conference table. She plopped a stack of 8 x 10 photo prints onto the table. "This is what our guys got at the memorial service."

David and Colby stood, and with Don, all four agents crowded around the end of the table. They spread out the photos, leaned over to peer at them, and occasionally picked one up for a closer look. Eventually Colby let one flutter from his grasp and float back to the table. "So many people," he noted quietly.

"Yeah," agreed Don, his voice just as quiet. "Lots of students, faculty, friends..." He sighed, straightening his spine. "There were over a thousand people there. Even if our perp was one of them, the odds of picking something out of these photos...I'm sure Charlie could give us a numerical calculation, but I'm going with 'not good'."

David sank back into a chair, and the others followed suit. "How's he doing?" he asked gently.

Don shrugged. "He actually did something kind of normal - which disturbs me a little. He and Abby took off for a few days. Got almost all the way to Oregon; finally stopped in Crescent City."

Colby's eyes registered surprise. "That's, what? Ten, eleven hours?"

Don winced. "He called Dad as soon as he decided to stop there; Dad said he did it in nine-and-a-half. With Abby in the car. Maybe Robin and I should go up there after them."

"Nine-and-a-half's not bad," Liz intoned softly. "Not bat-out-of-hell bad, anyway. I've done it in less."

Don looked at her, slightly surprised. "You've been to Crescent City?"

She blushed. "Yeah. Yeah, I have. It's a nice, small, town on the coastline. Away from the southern California tourists and rush. The beaches aren't crowded. Couple of years ago, I drove all the way up 101, practically to Canada."

Don's expression turned to one of alarm. "I hope he doesn't just keep going! I mean, I think it's a good idea for him to get away, but I was kind-of hoping he'd take Dad with him...or maybe leave Abby here."

"Abby's his daughter," Colby pointed out practically. "It makes sense to me. They need time to...well, not 'heal', really...I don't know...establish the new world order."

David had spent the last five years in DC, and felt slightly out of the loop. "Is there some reason you don't trust Charlie with his own daughter?"

Don reddened in shame, and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Of course not," he growled. "Charlie's always been great with Abby. He became a lot more grounded when she was born, much more focused on family... I guess I was just thinking that he's in a dangerous place right now. His decisions are going to be based in confusion and pain. If _he_ forgets to eat, it's one thing - but what if he forgets to feed Abby, or goes into _P vs NP_ mode?"

Liz and David sat in uncomfortable silence, but Colby voiced an opinion. "Wow," he said. "Haven't heard those initials in years. One missed meal is not the end of the world, even for a three-year-old. You sound like you're almost angry at Charlie."

Don glared at Colby. "Don't be an ass," he spat. "And don't forget who's the boss in this room."

David cleared his throat and everyone looked at him. "I was just thinking," he said. "Maybe we should call in Bruce Mendolsohn."

"What the hell for?" asked Don, voice raised near a shout.

David answered calmly. "Because he offered," he said. "We have a great Team Ramanujan assembled, but are any of us thinking clearly enough to be effective?"

Don stood, walked toward the door, and rubbed the back of his neck. "Fine," he finally said, turning back around. "Maybe a few minutes with Mendolsohn is a good idea. Everyone here lost a colleague and friend, after all." He turned again to leave, then thought of something else and paused in the doorway. "While you're calling people," he advised, "get Fleinhardt in here. Maybe he can do something with those pictures."

**...**

Alan stood in the door of the laundry room and eyed the overflowing basket warily. God in heaven, he didn't want to do this. From where he stood, he could see one sleeve of Amita's pale peach sweater. The weather in Los Angeles was currently too warm for sweaters, but the kids had gone up into the mountains a few weeks ago; they had left Abby with him and spent a couple of days concentrating on each other, at one of their favorite B & Bs. He shuddered, remembering that he had spent the weekend hoping they were making Abby a big sister. Thank the Lord, _that_ hadn't happened; at least, none of them knew about it if it had, and that was fine with him. He was fairly sure none of them could take much more.

He sighed and massaged the back of his neck with one hand. It didn't seem possible, but that trip had been just three weekends ago. Just ten days after she got back to the city, Amita had been gunned down at the grocery store, and everyone's life had changed forever. Not for the first time, Alan found an odd comfort in the fact that Amita's parents hadn't lived to go through this. The poor girl had been devastated when their plane went down almost four years ago; they had come to America and spent a month getting to know their granddaughter…but had never made it back to India. At the time, Alan had thought nothing that bad would ever happen to them again. Don was out of the field; his chances of being shot had been reduced drastically. Never in his wildest dreams...his most atrocious nightmares...did Alan consider Amita herself would leave them so soon.

He slowly approached the basket, squatted in front of it, and began to toss clothes into the front-loading washing machine. He avoided the sweater as long as he could, even though he pitched two of her blouses and a pair of Amita's shorts into the wash with no problem at all. Finally, the sweater was the only thing left in the basket. He drew in a deep breath and clamped a hand around the fuzzy material. The sweater was old, a favorite; it pre-dated her marriage to Charlie, and the material was worn and soft. Alan touched it reverently with his free hand, then used both hands to draw the garment toward his face. When he rubbed the material against the stubble of his beard, the softness reminded him of Amita, her lips bestowing one of her tender kisses on his cheek. Almost without knowing what he was doing, Alan buried his nose in the sweater, and inhaled the scent that still clung to the fabric. A smoky odor from a fire she and Charlie must have built at the B&B did its best to mask everything else, but it was all there. The light, sandalwood-with-a-hint-of-sweat-scent that he had come to recognize and love. The scent of a woman. The scent of his daughter.

Alan squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, and just breathed. Then he slowly stood, knees creaking. One hand reached out to close the door of the washing machine while the other kept a firm grip on the sweater. He turned slightly, and laid the material gently on top of the ironing board. He started folding the sweater neatly, remembering how long he had kept a few of Margaret's clothes, hidden in his dresser drawers, where his sons wouldn't find them. He would take Amita's favorite sweater back upstairs, and he would plant it somewhere for Charlie to find. Maybe his son wasn't the sentimental fool he was, and the sweater would find its way back into the laundry.

If it did, Alan decided, heading for the stairs, he would just rescue it again - and keep it for himself.

**...**

"It pisses me off," Colby informed Bruce Mendolsohn. "That family's been through enough, don't you think? Charlie's mom, Amita's parents, the constant danger of Don's job, Don and Robin not getting that baby..." He reddened. "You knew all that, right?"

Mendolsohn smiled. "If it makes you feel better, yes."

"Great," mumbled Colby. "Now _you're_ pissing me off."

The retired psychiatrist chuckled. "This conversation is confidential, Agent Granger, as are each of my conversations of a professional nature. You should feel free to talk about whatever you want, whether I happen to know about it already or not."

Colby sighed. "Yeah. I guess. I just hate to think of the Whiz Kid going through this. And poor Abby!"

Mendolsohn sat silently for a moment, then made a suggestion. "Take them out of the equation."

This time Colby chuckled. "Even _you_ can't talk about Charlie without using mathspeak."

Mendolsohn smiled. "Apparently. But I'm wondering, Agent, how _you_ feel about losing _your_ friend. If Dr. Ramanujan had not been married to another friend of yours, would you be affected by her death?"

Colby shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Wh...what?" he stammered. "I mean, yeah, of course. She was a nice lady - but this is law enforcement, doc. Pretty much surrounded by death, here. Vics. Perps. Other agents..."

"That's true," Mendolsohn agreed. "But Amita was not an agent. Nor was she a nameless, anonymous victim. She was a friend. She included you in family outings. She taught her child to refer to you as 'Uncle Colby'. Two years ago, when you were wounded on the job, she took you into her home, and helped nurse you back to health."

"Stop it!" Colby protested, his face red. "Just stop. Please."

The two men sat in silence for a moment.

"It is not my intention to cause you pain," Bruce Mendolsohn finally said quietly. "'I'm only suggesting that you fully acknowledge the pain you already feel."

Colby swallowed, looked away, and then returned his gaze to the psychiatrist. "I feel so bad," he admitted quietly. "I...miss her, and I get sad...and then I think of Charlie, and Abby. How much worse it must be for them."

"You're allowed to feel bad," Mendolsohn assured him. "You're allowed to miss your own friend - and you're allowed to feel sympathy for another friend. Pain is pain. You can't negate your own by deciding that someone else's is worse."

Colby looked confused. "But..."

"Feel what you feel, agent," Mendolsohn advised. "Knowing that other people loved, admired, and miss his wife will almost certainly be a comfort to Charlie; there's no upside to pretending this doesn't hurt."

**...**

Liz sat a little stiffly in the chair. "I don't know if you know this," she started. "Years ago, before you moved in next door to the Eppes, Don and I used to date. We went on some double dates with Charlie and Amita." She smiled. "I think Don wanted to encourage Charlie to speed up his action, a little."

Mendolsohn tried not to register surprise. "I didn't realize agents could date each other."

She blushed. "It wasn't the smartest thing either one of us ever did. He wasn't just a fellow agent, he was my supervisor."

"You've remained friends," the psychiatrist pointed out. "I've seen you at Alan's picnics."

She nodded. "It was a little awkward right after the break-up; I even worked in another office for awhile. But Amita actually helped me realize that the family's acceptance of me wasn't contingent on my dating Don - she kept inviting me out to lunch, or to the house for dinner. She and Charlie tried to set me up with a few uber-geeks, so we could still double-date..." She chuckled, and shook her head. "I even went out with Larry, once, after Megan moved away. Tell anyone and I will hurt you - I'm not even sure Larry knows."

Mendolsohn laughed. "He can be rather...ethereal..."

Liz smiled. "Anyway. Don's always spent a lot of time with his family, so we started running into each other a lot. Sometimes, Robin was with him, and she was great; not jealous at all. We all got along really well, and when a permanent spot opened up on Don's team, he asked me to come back. Said he trusted me, knew I was good police."

"High praise," Mendolsohn noted.

Liz reddened slightly. "Yeah. I talked to Amita about it, and she went with me to talk to Robin - I wanted to make sure she was okay with me working so closely with Don again." She sighed. "Don and Charlie may have waited awhile, but they both scored great women." Mendolsohn just smiled in agreement. Liz leaned forward a bit in her chair and continued speaking, a serious expression on her face. "The Eppes family has been nothing but good to me. My own family is back east, and the Eppes have taken me in like one of their own. They do that. They take care of people. It started with Alan, but he passed the caretaking gene on to his sons, and they both chose women who were carriers themselves. We're gonna pay them back, now. We're gonna find the person who did this to Amita, and make him pay. We owe it to her...to Charlie, to Abby...and to ourselves."

**...**

David settled into the chair. "I've been assigned to DC since just after Charlie and Amita got married," he said. "I've come back to LA a few times on vacation, but I've only met Abby once before."

"And yet you chose to join the Ramanujan Task Force," Mendolsohn said.

David smiled. "Well, yeah. Of course. I still think of DC as just a temporary assignment; these people are my real friends. My family, since my grandmother passed. I haven't _seen_ them a lot in the last five years, but we talk on the phone. E-mail." His smile widened, and he shook his head. "Charlie even consulted on one of my cases. He came out to DC about a year after I got there, and came up with a search pattern that helped us crack a drug ring that had been in operation for almost 10 years. Then he helped me find some local consultants; friends of his from Georgetown. Now Larry's at Georgetown, so he's available as well."

"Sounds like you've established friendships that go deeper than most working relationships," noted Mendolsohn.

David's expression darkened. "We have," he agreed. "I'm not entirely sure why. At first, I thought it was the inherent danger of the job – but trust me, DC isn't exactly a playground...I'm close to my team there, but it's not on the same level, you know?" Mendolsohn let David continue thinking out loud, and didn't interrupt. "I think now that Alan's had a lot to do with it. He has a way of sucking you into the family." He grinned, then sighed as the grin faded. "I always planned to full-circle my career, end up back here in LA eventually. I don't know what I was thinking. My picture of life here is suspended in a snow globe, always the same..but it's not. Things are moving on without me. Alan's getting older. Nikki's off in Pittsburgh. Don's Assistant Director. Colby's SAC." He paused. "Amita's gone," he finished softly. He sat quietly for a moment, then lifted his chin almost defiantly. "Life doesn't stand still and wait for you," he declared. "You've got to make decisions with that truth uppermost in your mind – and right now, in this moment, my good friends Don, and Charlie, and Alan – they need my help. And that's all I need to know."

**...**

Don ignored the empty chair facing Bruce Mendolsohn and paced the perimeter of the small conference room instead. His hands were jammed into the pockets of his black jeans. He reached a corner of the room and pivoted, glancing at Charlie's neighbor as he turned. "Thanks for coming in," he said gruffly. "Some of the guys needed to talk. We have shrinks at the Bureau, of course, but everyone feels more comfortable with you." He thought that he grinned, but the effect was more of a grimace. "Plus, we don't have to wait a week for an appointment."

Mendolsohn smiled and sat casually, one foot crossed over the other knee. "I'm pleased I've been able to help," he responded. "Sitting and listening seems a small contribution to make, but as I said before, I'm more than ready to offer an ear."

"Thanks," mumbled Don, reaching another corner and pivoting again. His hands snuck out of his pockets and he crossed his arms over his chest. "I know you gave everybody your home number, too. Appreciate it."

"Absolutely," Mendolsohn responded mildly. "Would you like to sit?"

Don glanced at him again, an expression of discomfort on his face. "What?" His gaze slid to the empty chair. "Oh. No. No, thanks – I just came to thank you for talking to the team. Everybody seems a lot more focused and calm." His steps slowed and he paused behind the chair, and fell silent.

Mendolsohn cleared his throat. "I don't envy you your position," he said. "Your sense of worry must be omnipresent."

Don's eyes narrowed. He frowned slightly as he settled over a widened stance, arms still crossed over his chest. "What do you mean?"

Mendolsohn blinked innocently. "Well, it's obvious. I mean, you're in charge here, and these people are your good friends. You have to be concerned about their states of mind. On the home front, you've lost a member of your family – and everyone else in the family has been affected by that. You're a natural leader, and they probably look to you for leadership whether they realize it or not. Your wife. Your father." He paused. "Your brother. Even little Abagail."

Don nodded once, briefly. "I guess," he hedged.

Mendolsohn continued. "It's important that the one who finds himself in the position of primary caretaker remember to take care of himself. What do you do to allieviate the pressure?"

Don snorted. He uncrossed his arms and let his hands drop down to perch on his hips. "I look at my wife and thank God I'm not Charlie," he said, his tone almost daring.

The psychiatrist didn't seem shocked. To the contrary, he nodded. "That's actually very natural. Healthy, even. I hope you don't follow up that thankfulness with a hefty dose of guilt."

Don reddened. "Of course I do," he growled. "As soon as I think something like that, I want to kick my own ass. He's my brother. I wouldn't wish something like this on my worst enemy!"

"And you're not wishing it on him, either," Mendolsohn countered. "You're merely confronting the reality of the situation. It's paradoxical to feel so thankful and blessed at the same time that you're feeling such loss and sympathy."

Don sighed and let one hand creep back into a pocket while he used the other to gesture as he spoke. "I feel so...bad," he confessed, the hand continuing upward until it brushed through his hair. "I want to help him, but at the same time I don't see how Charlie can ever get over this."

"He won't," Mendolsohn answered simply. "But that doesn't mean that he won't eventually get _through_ it. Nor does it mean that you aren't helping him."

"How?" Don's voice was almost a whisper.

"Charlie lost the love of his life," answered the psychiatrist. "Yet he remains a man, an individual, and as such, _needs_ love. Every time you let him know that you are there for him, every time he sees that you are there for his daughter, every time he hears that Amita is loved and missed by you – and not just forgottten as if she had never existed – those are the moments that will help him face the next moment. Sometimes, you will need to listen to the same story, over and over; look at the same photographs twenty times. Sometimes, you will need to share your own memories. Often, you will need to remind Abby that she had a mommy who loved her very much. Most of all, you will need to stand with your brother. Beside him...in such a way that he doesn't feel imprisoned – but he always feels safe." He smiled at the dumbfounded expression on Don's face. "I don't mean to imply that it's an easy job, but look at it this way – you already have years of practice. Just be Charlie's big brother. Do you think you can do that?"

Slowly, Don nodded. "Yeah," he confirmed. "Yeah, I know how to do that."

**...**

End, Chapter 6


	7. Back Stories

**The Reunion**

**by FraidyCat**

**Chapter 7: Back Stories**

It was a mistake, and he knew it.

He had not gone undetected this long by making mistakes.

He had always been so careful. When they had told him they were enforcing the early retirement clause when he turned 55, he had been stunned. Of course they all knew the Base Realignment and Closure commission was looking at Riverbank seriously, but the 2005 recommendation to close the base was still a shock. By 2010, when he was 55, Riverbank would be deactivated. He had tried, for almost five years, to convince someone that 55 was not too old for a transfer. He had tried, for almost four of those years, to convince his wife, Greta, that he would not be put out to pasture prematurely - but she had given up long before he had. Greta had told him point-blank that she wouldn't stand for a reduced income and lifestyle. She was a beautiful woman, almost twenty years younger than he, and had no trouble hooking up with a younger man at the munitions plant. She had moved in with one of the supervisors so easily that he knew what he had long suspected was true. The bitch had probably slept her way through the entire plant during their eight-year marriage. She had probably spent the whole time trying to figure out how to trade up.

When she had left him, and he was alone, he had begun to work on his plan. It was obvious to him that none of this was his fault - and that the entire world should pay. He had given Riverbank the best years of his life, and this was how they repaid him? Forcing him out early, at two-thirds pension? Stealing his young, beautiful wife?

During his last year at Riverbank, he took three weeks of vacation time to set his plan into motion. The year before, in a last-ditch effort to persuade Greta that she should stay, he had used some vacation time to take her to San Francisco. The plan was already half-formed in the back of his mind, however; while they were in 'Frisco, thinking that he might need it someday, he had purchased a fine set of fake ID. It had been surprisingly easy to find a dealer in false identification. A few hundred in cash slipped to a bartender, and he had a name. Several thousand more got him a license and a birth certificate. Greta would be angry to know he had spent the money - but happy that his new ID listed him as only 50. During the last year he was at the munitions plant, he had used the identification to obtain a passport - both because he might need one, and to make sure the ID was good. He took it as a sign when he obtained the passport without a hitch.

During his last few months at Riverbank, using his false ID, he rented a U-Haul truck at a dealership in nearby Modesto. He packed the empty truck with several hundred pounds' worth of sand bags; he needed to duplicate the weight of a packed munitions truck as closely as possible, to make the mileage estimate viable. He also carried several five-gallon containers of gasoline. He headed toward Vegas on Route 66, through the Mojave Desert. He filled the tank in Modesto, and made careful note of exactly where he was, when the U-Haul hit empty. He had picked this stretch of road because it was rife with old ghost towns; sure enough, he had passed one just seventeen miles earlier. It would be a perfect place to stash a U-Haul. In the middle of the Mojave, during the heat of a California summer, he would be completely unobserved as he transferred the munitions from one of Riverbank's delivery vehicles to the back of the U-Haul, filled the U-Haul's tank with gasoline from several 5-gallon containers, and took off again. At the next ghost town, he would stop and burn his real identification. He would no longer need it, having liquidated all his investments and emptied his bank accounts during the divorce, hiding as much as he could from Greta. It would be days before anyone found the munitions truck - and no one would _ever_ find him.

That had been five years ago, and he had continued his careful and thorough ways - until now. Always before, he had chosen a target, followed the target for as long as necessary, hit the target, and been in the next state before nightfall. Now, he sat in a white plastic chair on his balcony, watching the curly-haired man and his beautiful blonde child hold hands as they walked down the beach, and told himself he was making a mistake. He should be far away from California by now, waiting patiently for another target; in the past, he had waited months at a time - at least twice, his new target had appeared immediately, so it all averaged out. So far, over the last five years, he had exacted his pound of flesh from 10 people.

Consecutive targets were never from the same location. Never connected in any way, certainly not as part of the same family. He tried to tell himself he was just watching, for awhile.

He tried to ignore the way his trigger finger itched.

**…...**

Alan had heard a vehicle slow and pull into the driveway, and he was waiting on the porch by the time Don and Robin got to the front door. "Thank you both for coming over," he said.

Don placed a hand on Robin's back and steered her past Alan, into the living room. "I would have come earlier, but you said to wait for Robin to get home from work." He peered anxiously over her shoulder as the two of them more fully entered the house. "Are Charlie and Abby home?"

Alan followed them into the house and closed the front door behind him. "No," he answered briefly. "Please, sit down."

Robin glanced at Don, who silently arched his eyebrows and shrugged. As she sank onto the sofa, Robin smiled a little nervously. "So mysterious, Alan!"

"Yeah," echoed Don, settling beside his wife. "We just assumed this was a surprise welcome home dinner. We haven't even eaten, yet."

Alan reached to lift a small CVS pharmacy bag out of a box sitting on the floor next to his chair. "Not a problem," he said. "I doubt you'll have any appetite after you see this."

Don frowned. "What is it?" he and Robin asked at the same time.

Alan stood before them like a nervous schoolboy, clutching the paper bag tightly. "Art gave me a ride down to LAPD impound," he informed them. "Gary Walker phoned and said that Amita's van was available for release. I thought I'd save Charlie the ordeal."

"I should have thought to ask him myself," Don said. "I could have given you a ride, or Colby could have taken me, or something..."

"Never mind that," interrupted Alan, growing more upset by the minute. "After I got the van home, I parked it out back, where Charlie wouldn't have to see it all the time. Then I decided to clean it out, so he wouldn't have to deal with that."

"You should have waited," Robin reprimanded mildly. "I would have been glad to help."

"Well, you'll both get your chance," answered Alan. "I put her briefcase, some DVDs that Abby must have been watching in the van, a coloring book and some crayons, and a dog-eared paperback that I found under one of the front seats into a box." He rattled the pharmacy bag. "Then I picked this up off the front passenger seat. There's a receipt inside - she went to the pharmacy about half an hour before she was shot."

Don was almost afraid to ask. "What else is inside?"

"Lip balm," Alan answered. "Two packs of gum." His eyes filled with tears. "A roll of Butter Rum Lifesavers - I'm the only one who likes those, so she must have gotten them for me."

Robin moved as if to stand. "Oh, Alan, I'm so sorry," she started.

He shook the bag at her again. "That's not it!" Suddenly he tossed the bag so that it landed at Don's feet. "Look yourself. I can't even say it."

Don exchanged a look with Robin, then reached down and picked up the bag. Cautiously, he smoothed the creases caused by Alan's death grip, took a deep breath, opened the bag, and peeked inside. He heard Robin gasp, and wondered why everyone was so disturbed by a box of tampons. He reached inside the bag, drew the box out, and registered a line drawing in the general shape of a tampon on the side of the box. He was just about to ask his Dad what he was missing when he turned the box over. _No other brand is more accurate,_ he read, still not understanding what everyone else in the room had already figured out. _Results 5 days before missed period._

"Oh, shit," he whispered, shifting the box in his hand as the light finally went off. His thumb moved, revealing a giant lower-case "e", and Don finally had all his clues in a row. "_Early pregnancy test_," he read dully.

The room was silent for almost a full minute. "What are we going to do?" Alan finally wailed.

Robin's shocked expression had faded. Now, she looked exactly the way she did when she was presenting a summation to a jury. She wrenched the box from Don's hand and started shoving it back into the bag. "We know nothing," she said over the crinkling of the bag. Both men stared at her, and she scowled. "I'm serious. Amita counseled college-age girls; she could have purchased this for one of her students. Or for a friend." She reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear almost defiantly. "Hell, maybe it was a good luck charm. When Don and I were trying to get pregnant, I kept two of these in my office all of the time, and one was hidden at home in a box of tampons. I was hoping I'd need it, someday."

Don's eyes softened. "Ah, Sweetie," he murmured.

Robin twisted the bag shut. She tried to smile at Don. "It's fine," she said. "I'm just sayiing, Amita could have bought this for a lot of different reasons." She looked at Alan, a serious expression on her face. "We. Really. Don't. Know. Anything."

Alan seemed to calm a bit, although his legs were shaking as he backed over to his recliner and sat down. "I suppose that's true," he said.

"Look at it this way," Robin continued. "Even if Amita suspected something, she never got around to taking the test, so _she_ didn't know anything either. She had such a fun time teasing Charlie and finding the perfect way to tell him about Abby - I really doubt that she would have mentioned any possibilities to him before she knew for sure."

"A fair assumption," noted Don. "At the very least, we should wait for him to bring up the topic first, on his own terms."

"I guess," said Alan doubtfully. He stared at the sack Robin was holding as if it contained a snake. "What are we going to do with it?"

She stood abruptly. "Don and I will take it home and put it in our trash; recycle comes in the morning. Don has to take the trash out to the curb tonight anyway."

Alan visibly swallowed and tore his attention away from the bag long enough to look at Don. "Do you still want some dinner?" he asked hopefully.

Don followed Robin's lead and stood next to his wife. "Sorry, Dad," he answered apologetically. "You were right. I'm not very hungry anymore."

…**...**

Abby let go of Charlie's hand and bent to dig a crabshell out of the sand.

The beach was littered with the shells, left behind by early morning crabbers more enthusiastic than neat. The little girl turned the half shell over, saw what it was, and looked up at her father sorrowfully. "That was someone's house," she pouted.

Charlie was instantly transported to a year earlier. He, Amita and Abby had driven down the coastline one weekend, toward San Diego. They had been walking on the beach one morning when Abby saw all the shells and ran toward them, squealing with excitement. She expected them to be shiny and pretty, like the ones Charlie had bought her in a gift shop the day before. She trotted from one shell to the next, disappointed to find cracked, brown, hulls, dull and smelly. She had tears in her eyes by the time her parents caught up to her. She was angry when she looked up at her mother. "These are ugly shells," she stated emphatically, stamping a little bare foot in the sand. "I hate them!"

"Abby," reproved Amita gently, "that's not a very nice thing to say. That shell was someone's house for a long time. I'm sure the crab who lived there thought it was very pretty, safe, and warm."

The family had found some dry sand, then, and they sat down for a time while Charlie and Amita told Abby about the crabs who lived in the ocean, and sometimes ended up in Grandpa's kitchen. Charlie was a little concerned that they would turn their daughter into a vegetarian on the spot - but Amita, having been one for years, had no problem with that possibility. The almost-three-year-old had been fixated on the idea of some poor, naked, crab walking around without his shell, however, and had missed the reality entirely.

Now, she saw the empty shells and thought of creatures without homes. Charlie was surprised she remembered - and he felt an affinity with the homeless crabs in Abby's imagination. He felt like his shell was empty, too, and he was wandering around naked and vulnerable, searching for his home. "Poor little cwab," Abby said sadly, and Charlie couldn't help but agree.

**…...**

End, Chapter 7


	8. Discoveries

**A/N: I actually posted that last chapter from my iPhone while I sat in an airport. I felt so technologically cool. Now I am really back, at a full-size keyboard; also, I heard the most delicious two syllables this morning ("be-nign"), so I've decided to give you another bonus.**

**...**

**The Reunion**

**by FraidyCat**

**Chapter 8: Discoveries**

Larry sighed as he shut down the Powerpoint projection and let his hands flutter helplessly in the air. "I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help," he apologized to the rest of Team Ramanujan. He glanced helplessly at the blank screen in the conference room. "I applied as many search algorithims as I could think of; several of them were designed by Charles himself." His voice took on a sad quality. "I'm sure Amita helped with some of them." He looked back at the agents gathered around the table and shrugged. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "According to Agent Edgerton's specifications, we're looking for a very specific and powerful weapon. While I did locate several California gun dealers who had sold possibles within the last twelve months, including one dealer who had sold just the ammunition for such a weapon, Colby and David were able to verify all those purchases as legitimate."

Don was disappointed, but not surprised. "Figures," he muttered, tapping his pen on the table top. "It was a long shot anyway, Larry. We're looking for some back alley negotiator, now." He glanced at Colby and tried to give his order some heat, as if there was a chance in hell this might work. "Granger, you and Sinclair work with Walker. Find as many dealers as you can..."

Ian Edgerton, who had straightened slightly in his chair while Larry was talking, suddenly interrupted. "Wait," he said. "Professor. Did you say you found a place that sold only the ammo? Long-range sniper-quality ammo?"

Larry nodded his head. "Yes. A small shop out in Van Nuys."

Edgerton turned his attention to Colby and David. "Did you guys clear that?"

David thumbed through the papers in an open file folder in front of him. "Just a sec, let me find...yeah, we talked to the owner. He checked his records and sent us to a dude out in Death Valley." He shuddered visibly. "I'm not sure he's a displaced choir boy, but I don't think he's good for this. Army vet, sniper – we got excited there for a minute, didn't we Colby?"

Colby grinned. "Yeah – until we saw the guy. Pony tail down to his waist, food from every meal he's eaten in the last ten years still living in his scruffy beard, eye patch...he'd stand out in LA, you know what I mean?"

"Besides," continued Sinclair, "he's missing one eye. Lives on disability and tries to shoot desert rats with sniper ammo. Misses a lot."

Ian allowed himself a smile as he stood and started pacing the room. "It just occurred to me when Larry mentioned the ammo-only sale." He looked at Don. "Go with me, here. Schwarzenegger put Assembly Bill 962 into effect in 2011. Before then, California didn't require sellers of ammo to keep records."

Liz spoke up for the first time. "You just happen to have that information filed away?" she asked, sounding slighly surprised.

Ian glanced at her. "Guns are my life," he replied seriously, then looked back at Don. "If our guy bought his ammo before then, we're screwed – but what if he didn't? Maybe we've been searching for the wrong thing."

Larry looked confused. "But what good is ammunition without a weapon?" he asked. A pensive expression settled on his face. "Are you suggesting that he already had the weapon?"

Ian snapped his fingers and whirled to face Colby. "Exactly," he crowed. "Granger, remember Riverbank?"

Colby caught the passing train of Ian's logic, and jumped up excitedly. "You're right! That could be it!"

"Hey!" Don raised his voice to be heard. "What the hell are you guys talking about?"

"Riverbank was a munitions plant near Modesto," Ian explained. "Supplied military weapons and ammo. It was one of the bases shut down during base realignment; deactivated in 2010."

Colby took up the story. "During its last year of operation, Riverbank was trucking excess inventory to Lake City Army Ammunition Plant, another facility in Independence, Missouri. Weapons and ammunition were never shipped together, for obvious reasons. Anyway, one of the last shipments of rifles was stolen."

Understanding dawned on Don's face. "I remember now," he said, standing to join the others. "They found the Riverbank truck in the middle of the Mohave, empty. The guns were moved to another heavy vehicle - stowed in a ghost town?"

"That's the one," Ian confirmed. "The military always had a suspect – the Riverbank truck driver was never heard from again, and he was a disgruntled employee. Losing his job, had already lost his wife to another base employee – his ID has never hit the radar, though, so he's probably got another set."

By now, Don was wandering the perimeter of the small conference room. "So let's say this employee was VERY disgruntled; stealing the weapons wasn't enough. He intends to use them. He has all the rifles he needs, but no ammo."

Larry started shutting down and packing up his laptop. "So I should start over," he concluded. "This time search for the ammunition sales."

Don smiled at him. "Right," he affirmed. "Start with the last twelve months; we'll go all the way back to 2011 if we have to. For now, bring the names you find to Colby and David."  
He looked at the agents. "You guys investigate each name; pull records or somehow get photographs of any possibles. Check them against the Riverbank truck driver's ID — he'll be in both military and DEA databases. We'll also have Larry do another search of the memorial photos, using facial recognition software."

"Where do you want me?" Liz asked, standing because everyone else was.

"Start contacting other states," decided Don. "Give them the profile – high powered sniper shooting after significant stalking - and the timeline, since the 2010 Riverbank incident. Let's see if this guy's been practicing."

**...**

Robin regarded the guest in her office with a distrust bordering on hatred. "I told you to take us off the list," she almost hissed. "I'm not going through that again. I can't."

The social worker tried to soothe her. "You've been off the list," she explained. "I just thought of you two first, when this situation came up. I always felt so badly about that other baby."

Robin blinked back tears and leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. "He wasn't just _'that other baby'_, dammit. He was supposed to be my son!"

"You're right," the woman apologized. "Listen, I'm not here to dredge up bad memories. I have a list of approved parents longer than my right arm; I just thought I'd see if you were interested. I can get you back on the top of the list; my office owes you."

Robin shook her head. "Jane, It will kill me if I have to give her up," she said quietly.

"I realize that," the Jane answered. "I would never put you in that position again. This baby's mother is in the last stages of a very agressive form of lung cancer. Hospice doesn't think she'll live another month. All she wants is to see her child in a permanent home before she dies. My agency agreed to take on the case pro bono."

Robin refused to hope. "Other relatives will crawl out of the woodwork."

The woman shook her head. "There are none. Don't you think we've searched? The parents were both orphaned as teenagers, and spent the next four years in group homes; you know how difficult it is to place an older child. They met in one of those homes. Her own experience with state foster care is why the mother is so adamant about private adoption. When she aged out of the system, the mother was already pregnant, but she took to the streets to make a living as a hooker, anyway. Hookers don't have much of a health plan, and she thought it was the pregnancy making her feel sick. When she was found unconscious in an alley and taken to Cedars-Sinai, and eventually diagnosed, she refused all treatments until the baby was born. By then there wasn't much that could be done, although she's hung in there for close to 6 months. The father was a few months younger than she was. He never knew she was pregnant, and when it was time for him to leave the system, he joined the Marines. He was killed six months ago in Afghanistan, two days after he was deployed, and just a few weeks before his daughter was born."

Against her instinct for self preservation, Robin found herself beginning to hope. "I have to talk to Don," she said.

"Of course you do," agreed the caseworker. "Believe me, I don't want to rush the two of you into a decision, but the mother wants to meet the prospective parents before she signs over custody of the child. As I said before, hospice..."

"I know," snapped Robin, glaring at the woman. "She doesn't have long, I've got it!" She thought for a moment and then made a counteroffer. "You set up an appointment for sometime in the next couple of days. Don and I will talk, and if we decide not to go through with it, we'll cancel."

Jane nodded. "I understand." She gathered her purse and briefcase from the floor, and stood to leave, hesitating for a moment. "Robin, I really think this could work out for everybody. Please give the situation serious consideration."

_Oh, I will_, thought Robin, smiling tightly. _I already am._

**…...**

"…an' then there was a pwincess, an' she had pretty hairs, an' Daddy said she looked like Mama, an' we had popcorn, an' Daddy let me have a drink of his soda, an'…"

Alan laughed, interrupting his granddaughter's report. "I suspect you had some candy as well, Abagail."

"Only a little," the girl protested, and Alan laughed again.

"Well, Miss Sugar High, I'm very happy that you're having a good time. Will you go to the movie again with Grandpa, when you get home? You know you're supposed to save all things Disney for me."

"It's okay," she replied quickly. "There were scary parts an' I closed my eyes, so I didn't really see it all. When are we coming home?"

Alan's smile faded a little. "I'm not sure, sweetie. Put your daddy on the phone, and I'll find out." He waited through several seconds of rustling, the sound of running feet, two separate thumps that indicated the cell had been dropped, and more rustling noises.

"Dad?" he finally heard.

"Son, how are you? Still in Crescent City?"

"Yeah, but I think we'll leave in the morning. Abby, don't put the carrot stick in your nose. Eat your vegetables like a lady, please." He sighed. "The candy was a mistake."

Alan smiled again. "It usually is," he agreed. "You're coming home, or going on?"

"LA," Charlie answered. "It could be a couple of days before we get there. I just don't seem to have the energy for too much driving in one day — I don't know how we got here so fast. I guess I thought I was driving away from something bad..." He stopped speaking for a moment, and cleared his throat. "Besides, Abby gets tired of being in the car."

"Perfectly understandable," said Alan. "So do I. But if you want to wait a few more days, I'll take a bus there and help you drive back."

He was glad he was sitting down when Charlie actually accepted his offer. "Really? You wouldn't mind? It's a long bus...Abagail Marie, sit down. Sit. Down. This. Instant."

Alan winced at the tone of Charlie's voice. His son was nearing the end of his patience. "Take her to a park and let her run it off," he advised. "It's the only hope for a sugar high. Let me check out the bus schedules and call you back, son. I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Thanks, Dad," Charlie answered. "I'm sorry to ask.."

"Don't be," Alan assured him. "I love you, son - just as much as you love Abby. Wouldn't you do whatever you could for her?"

"Yes," Charlie whispered.

Alan nodded. "My point exactly. And right now, the best thing you can do is take that girl to the park."

**…...**

End, Chapter 8


	9. Lines in the Sand

**The Reunion**

**by FraidyCat**

**Chapter 9: Lines in the Sand**

He had never crossed this line before. Even now, he could hardly believe he was doing it. He almost felt as if he were two different people: a smart one — a sane one — who watched disapprovingly while the other one — the dangerously obsessed one — settled himself on the end of the park bench, smiling and briefly nodding to Charlie. "Afternoon."

Charlie's gaze had been glued to Abagail, who was happily playing alongside another child in the playground's sandbox, but now his eyes flickered briefly toward his new benchmate. "Hello," he replied quietly.

"It's such a nice day, I decided to go for a walk." Amita's murderer laughed briefly. "Unfortunately, my legs didn't think it was such a great idea. Gotta give them a little rest before I head back."

Charlie allowed a small smile. "Yes, it's nice weather, today." He sighed a little and checked on his daughter, again. She looked over at him, smiled brightly, and waved. Charlie's own smile grew more genuine as he waved back.

The stranger watched them interact. "Lovely child," he commented. "Yours?"

"Yes," Charlie answered.

The man smiled. "She's lovely," he repeated. "Reminds me of my granddaughter." He glanced at Charlie. "Her mother must be blonde," he said. "The child certainly doesn't have your coloring!"

Charlie shifted a little on the bench, obviously uncomfortable. "Her mother's very pretty," he answered, then abruptly stood. "We have to leave now." He began to walk toward the sandbox. "Abagail!"

Charlie's homicidal benchmate smilled and murmured a farewell, then watched as the curly-haired man extricated the small blonde child from the sandbox, took her hand firmly into his larger one, and began to lead her toward their car.

**…...**

David looked dismally at the computer printout in his hand. "Unbelievable," he murmured. "Why the hell do so many people need high-powered sniper ammunition?"

"Best not to think about that," advised Colby, scanning the printout in his own hands. He flipped to another page and sighed. "Larry said he's only through 2013...who knows how many names we'll end up with?"

Lieutenant Gary Walker rolled his eyes and snatched the printout away from David. "Quitcher whinin'." he grumbled. "This list ain't gonna research itself, so let's get on it, already."

David grinned and winked at Colby. "You're right," he said to Walker, leading the way to the conference area. "Thanks for coming to help us, by the way."

"And where else would I be?" questioned Walker gruffly. "I'm part of Team Ramanujan, ain't I?"

Colby clapped a hand on Walker's shoulder. "Abso-damn-lutely," he said. "Don had the techs set up four computer stations in this back conference room—he's upstairs dealing with some administrative issues right now, but he'll be down to help us later."

Walker nodded, and turned into the room. "Good," he drawled. "Split four ways, we'll plow through these names in no time." He pulled out a chair in front of the first computer he saw. "Somebody log me into this fancy F - B - I system."

**…...**

Charlie sighed again as he buckled Abby into her car seat. She smiled at him and yawned sleepily. "Where are we going now, Daddy?"

The stranger on the bench had made Charlie a little uncomfortable, and he wasn't entirely sure why. Crescent City was a small town, largely dependent upon tourism. Most of the locals were friendly; it wasn't unusual for a stranger to speak to him. Maybe it was the reminder of Amita…as if Charlie needed to be reminded.

He visibly shook himself, tousled Abby's hair and grinned. "I think we'll go back to our room and take a nap," he answered before he closed the back door of the vehicle and opened the driver's door. He slid in behind the wheel, automatically checking Abby's reflection in the rear-view mirror. "Maybe we'll go swimming, first."

Abby smiled sleepily and fought valiantly as her eyes threatened to close. "Did that man like my castle?" she asked.

Charlie buckled his seat belt. "I'm not sure what you and your friend were making was a castle," he teased.

He heard Abby yawn again. "Not here," she explained. "He was at the beach."

Charlie's pulse quickened, and he turned in his seat to look at the girl. "What? At the hotel?"

She nodded, giving in and letting her eyes drift shut. "He's staying there. He likes eggs."

Charlie frowned in confusion, reached out and shook Abby's knee gently. "What? Sweetie, tell Daddy about the eggs."

Her small eyes opened to tiny slits. "It's what he has for breakfast, daddy." She yawned a third time as her eyes drifted shut again.

Charlie turned back around and willed his heart to stop pounding. It made perfect sense, he told himself. Obviously the stranger was also staying at the Hampton, and Abby had seen him both on the beach, and in the restaurant. Just as obviously, the man wasn't trying to hide his presence; a three-year-old remembered seeing him. If Charlie weren't so distracted all the time, he probably would have noticed the man himself. His heart rate began to slow as he considered. In fact, that also explained the stranger's friendliness here at the park. If he had been staying at the hotel for a few days, he had probably seen Charlie around, and felt a certain familiarity. Charlie started to feel a little silly, as he glanced out the window at the bench where he had been sitting. The older man was still there, smiling slightly, reaching for a folded newspaper on the bench next to him. As he turned his head, he caught Charlie looking at him; his smile widened, and he lifted his hand off the newspaper, waved, and nodded.

Charlie returned the gestures, feeling both foolish and a little guilty. Poor old guy had just wanted someone to talk to. Charlie checked the rear-view mirror again — Abby was fully asleep, now — and slipped the car into gear. He would have to pay more attention, he decided. If they saw the man again, maybe they could share a meal together in the restaurant, before Alan arrived. After all, Charlie had double responsibilities to model good behavior for Abby, now. He and Amita had wanted her to grow into a kind and compassionate individual. He backed slowly out of the parking space, silently promising Amita that he would do a better job with the treasure she had left him.

**…...**

Don smiled at Robin across the dining room table. "Sorry I'm so late; you didn't have to hold dinner for me, but I appreciate it. I always enjoy dining with my beautiful bride."

Robin smiled. "Thank you, kind sir. You're in a good mood — something happen I should know about?"

Don shrugged. "I think Team Ramanujan is finally making some progress. We decided to trace the ammunition, rather than the weapon — Ian's idea. We're hoping to identify the Riverbank truck driver's new ID; we're also running his old passport photo through Larry's facial recognition program, cross-checking with the pictures we took at the memorial." His smile drooped into a frown. "Of course, we could be on the wrong track entirely, and just wasting more time..."

Robin hurried to restore his former good mood; God knew she would need him to be in a good mood when she told him about the social worker's offer. "I remember the Riverbank incident," she said. "I think that's an excellent lead; that truck driver got away with multiple high-powered weapons, but no ammunition — then he just dropped off the radar. It's a promising tact for the investigation."

Don flashed her a grateful look over a forkful of lasagna. "I hope so," he said, waiting for the pasta to cool a little before he shoved it into his mouth. "I was helping Colby and David with Larry's first set of names, from the ammunition-sale search — Walker is helping with that, too..." He quickly ingested his forkful of lasagna, closing his eyes in pleasure as he chewed and swallowed. He opened his eyes again and searched for his napkin while he made a rueful admission to his wife. "They finally sent me home; said I was falling asleep over the keyboard."

Robin laughed. "I'm not surprised. You went into the office at 6 this morning. I thought you might come home after you took your Dad to the airport this afternoon, but I wasn't really surprised that you went back to the Bureau."

"I wasn't the only one nodding off," answered Don defensively. "We finally all agreed to go home, get a good meal and a few hours of sleep, and then hit the search again in the morning. Larry will probably have more names for us by then, too." He took another bite of his dinner, changing the subject when he finished swallowing. "By the way, thanks for hooking Dad up with your friend," he said. "I can't believe the bus takes over 20 hours to get from LA to Crescent City. Dad was thrilled to find out he could get there tonight. He's hoping to talk Charlie into staying a few more days before the three of them head back."

Robin smiled, a little nervously; should she let Don get some sleep, and talk to him about the baby in the morning? "Not a problem," she assured her husband. "Jerry grabs any excuse he can find to log a few more hours in his Cessna." She chuckled. "We can always count on him to volunteer for cases being tried in venues outside of LA."

Don's smile faded as he thought about the reason his father was going to Crescent City in the first place. "I tried to call Charlie earlier, but the call went to voice mail. It's so unlike him to admit he needs help — especially to Dad. I hope he's okay."

Robin picked up her spoon and began to stir her coffee, even though she hadn't added any sugar to the mug. The social worker had stressed the fact that time was of the essence; perhaps she shouldn't wait. "I'm actually relieved that he accepted some help," she commented. "He's going to need to learn how to do that if he wants to give Abby the best life he can, don't you think?"

Don shrugged. "I guess," he finally agreed. "At least Dad's with him, by now...and maybe we'll have some good news for him when he gets back."

"Right," Robin said. Maybe they would have more good news for Charlie than Don even suspected, she thought, taking the spoon from her mug and raising the cup to take a sip of coffee. She grimaced, and Don laughed.

"Sweetie, you kind-of forgot the sugar," he said. "I was wondering what you were stirring."

Robin blushed and set the mug down heavily on the table. "Is dinner okay?" she asked.

Don swallowed another mouthful of lasagna. "It's great," he assured her. "Is this my Dad's recipe?"

"Better than that," Robin admitted. "It's your Dad's _cooking_; he was so grateful for the ride to Crescent City, he came over here this morning and made this casserole for us. He made the garlic bread, too.."

Don had grabbed a hunk of garlic bread as soon as Robin said that his father made it, and his eyes closed in pleasure again as he chewed on some. He opened them just in time to see his wife grimace again as she took another sip of coffee.

He smiled. "I told you, you forgot the sugar. Why are you suddenly so distracted?"

Don was stunned into silence when Robin suddenly burst into tears. "W-w-w-we have t-t-to t-t-alk," she stuttered.

**…...**

End, Chapter 9


	10. Incoming Tide

**a/n: You're a silent bunch of folk, but I see your hits — so I know you're out there. Luckily for us all, I write because I must, and not for the elusive review...**

**...**

**The Reunion**

**by FraidyCat**

**Chapter 10: Incoming Tide**

Abby squirmed in her chair, half a banana clutched in her hand. "This is my grandpa," she announced proudly, smiling at the man on the other side of the table. "Do you have a grandpa?"

He shook his head. "Not anymore," he answered seriously. "Now I _am_ the grandpa."

Abby giggled and Alan smiled indulgently. He reached for Abby's banana. "Here, let me take the peel off and slice that for you." He winked at the stranger. "Some people call me 'Alan'," he said.

"Jack," answered the man. "Nice to meet you." He looked toward the doorway of the hotel's small restaurant. "The child's father isn't coming?"

Alan finished slicing Abby's banana and picked up a container of yogurt, preparing to rip the top off. "No," he answered, a little sadly. "Charlie asked me to apologize. He feels badly that he asked you to breakfast and then didn't show up — but he woke up with a bad headache. We thought we might get on the road today, but if this turns into a migraine, that won't be happening."

Jack frowned. They were leaving? His family was leaving? "I'm sorry to hear that," he said. "About the headache, I mean."

Alan stirred the yogurt, then set the container down in front of Abby, who was chewing on a banana slice and coloring the menu. "Well, we'll see how he feels around check-out time," he said. "Sometimes a headache is just a headache — even with Charlie." He smiled again at his granddaughter. "Abby and I thought we'd give him a little silence for a few hours; that usually helps."

Abby glanced up and smiled brightly at Jack. "I'm taking Poppa to the beach after breakfast," she said. "Do you want to come?"

"Sweetheart, I'm sure Jack is busy," Alan started, but Jack interrupted, as an idea began to form. He didn't have a rifle with him, or any ammunition, but maybe he could work something out anyway.

"Actually, I'd like to join you, if that's all right," he said.

Alan smiled congenially. "Of course, Jack." He glanced at his granddaughter. "Abagail, eat some yogurt."

Abby ignored him and continued to study Jack. "Do you think my castle is still there? I want to show Poppa."

Jack thought quickly. "Probably not," he answered, "but I went for a walk yesterday, further down the beach, and I saw another one. A beautiful mermaid."

Abby looked confused. "What's a mermaid?"

Alan chuckled softly, cutting into his pancakes. "It's like a sea princess, Abby."

Abby's eyes lit up. "Can we go see the pwincess?" she asked, looking at her grandfather.

Alan tilted his head and looked at her with a serious expression on his face. "I would like that, sweetie — but a Sea Princess can only be seen by people who eat a good breakfast."

Abby dropped her crayons on the table and picked up the container of yogurt. "Maybe I should have another one," she said, and Alan almost laughed.

"I think if you finish your banana and help grandpa eat his pancakes, one yogurt will be enough," he answered.

Abby would have answered, but her mouth was full of yogurt.

**…...**

Ian had taken the fourth computer in the conference room while Don was upstairs briefing Phillip Wright on pressing administrative issues. He looked up when he heard the door open, and groaned when he saw Larry coming through the doorway. "Ah, geez," he grumbled. "The geek's here with more names."

Colby smiled into his keyboard. David looked at Larry tiredly. "Is that the rest of them?" he asked. "Please tell me that's all of them."

Larry strode to the center of the conference room table and placed a laptop firmly on its surface. "I think I may have better news," he said, ignoring Edgerton's 'geek' comment.

Three FBI agents and one LAPD lieutenant looked up from their work. Ian pushed his chair back and stood, moving quickly to stand behind Larry and look over his shoulder at the now-open laptop. "What?"

The other men gathered around the duo and regarded the picture on the screen — a crowd shot taken at Amita's memorial service. Larry began to speak quickly, flailing his hands as he spoke.

"As you know, facial recognition algorithms identify faces by extracting landmarks, or features, from an image of the subject's face. For example, an algorithm may analyze the relative position, size, and/or shape of the eyes, nose, cheekbones, and jaw. These features are then used to search for other images with matching features..."

"What are we lookin' at?" interrupted Walker impatiently.

Larry began to cut and zoom the image on the screen, until one man's face was brought into sharp focus. "The truck driver's passport has expired since he disappeared, but I was able to get a copy through Bob Tompkins at the NSA, when he heard it was for Charlie. The photo is almost 15 years old," he pointed out. "I'd like to confirm my suspicions with a photo that's been run through some age progression software — but I think we're looking at Mike Simpson, the Riverbank truck driver."

There were several seconds of silence in the room as each of the men studied the picture on the screen, which Larry quickly split until it displayed the original passport photo and the recent photo, side-by-side.

"Holy shit," Colby finally breathed. "It was Simpson. Why would a wanted man who hasn't been seen in years appear at a very public memorial service in the middle of Los Angeles?"

Walker nodded in agreement, and David started issuing orders. "Professor Fleinhardt, confirm this identification with age progression software. Colby, go get Liz — she's located several other places with recent hits that match this M.O. — transmit the photo to them if they have facial recogition software; if they don't, have them transmit their funeral crowd shots to us, and we'll have Larry do more searches. Use our techs if you need help, Professor. Edgerton, start running this photo through the system; you know what to look for. Passport, driver's license, traffic tickets, anything that will give us a current ID." He pushed past Colby and strode for the door.

"Hey!", said Colby, staggering back a step. "Where're you going?"

David didn't even turn around as he answered. "To get Don."

**…...**

Alan glanced around the deserted beach, uneasy and confused. He, Jack, and Abby had almost reached the east end of the hotel's stretch of sand, which tapered off into a grouping of craggy rocks. He stopped walking. He called loudly, to be heard over the roar of the nearby waves. "Abby! Come here, please! Jack! Jack!" The two in front of him turned around, but Abby did not scamper back; Jack was holding her hand. Alan began to struggle through the sand again. "Jack, are you sure we're going in the right direction?" he asked as he drew closer. He glanced again at the outcropping of rocks. "I don't see anywhere someone could build a sand...I mean, a Sea Princess. Besides, wouldn't the tide have washed it away by now?"

Jack smiled. "The Sea Princess is protected," he answered, "just beyond that last grouping of rocks. We're almost there." He smiled down at Abby. "Are you ready for the Sea Princess, dear? She has long, flowing, hair - just like your mommy."

Abby turned toward the rocks excitedly, pulling Jack along behind her. "Show me!" she shouted, trying to run in the shifting sand. Jack winked at Alan and shrugged, allowing himself to be tugged into a jog. As he turned, he steered Abby closer to the waves, where the sand was damp, and easier for running feet. Alan smiled at her excitement, felt in his pocket for his digital camera, and trudged after them.

At least they were almost there.

**…...**

Liz blasted through the door of the conference room, brandishing photographs. She skidded to a halt at the table and began to slam the photos down, one-by-one. "I've got him at a gravesite in Montana, four years ago," she said as she placed the first photo. A second photo dropped on top of the first. "A church funeral in Boise, three years ago." A third photo. "Another gravesite, this one in Colorado, two years ago."

Don's face was grim as he strode over to pick up the photographs. "Asshole's got a damn pattern," he practically spat. "Stalks, kills, gloats. One every year."

Colby had moved to stand behind him. "Charlie would say that there are always patterns," he noted quietly.

Liz let the final photo fall. "Maybe more than one pattern," she said almost apologetically. "This one was just six months ago, at a service in Nevada."

"He's escalating," said Ian, leaving his computer station and crossing the room to look at the photos. "Once a year isn't enough, anymore. Amita was at least the second, this year. There might be more we don't know about, yet."

"What do the victims have in common?" Don demanded. "Why is he targeting these specific individuals?"

"I don't know," Liz admitted. "There's nothing obvious. Both male and female. Oldest was almost 60 years old, youngest was still a child. No two are alike, and consecutive targets are nothing like the previous hit."

"Damn it!" growled Don, almost not hearing David's quiet voice. The agent had not left his computer station while the others all looked at the photos.

"We'll get him in the box, and we'll ask him," he said now. "I've got a hit." All eyes turned in his direction, and then the agents almost tripped over each other as they hurried to stare at his computer screen. "Passport photo," David explained. "Dates before the Riverbank job, which is why I almost missed it. He must have been setting up his new ID the year before he stole the shipment."

"Jack Warren," Don read aloud. "Jack Warren killed my sister-in-law, broke my brother's heart, and left their little girl motherless."

"I'll call Walker," Colby said. "He had to go to Parker Center — some kind of Internal Affairs investigation just blew up and took five officers off the street — but I'll call him, have him get a BOLO out on this guy right away." He snatched a cell phone from his belt with one hand, and a business card from his pocket with the other. He shoved the card at David. "Here's his e-mail; send him that photo."

**…...**

Jack and Abby had disappeared behind an especially large rock, and Alan struggled to catch up to them. The wind was picking up, blowing cold off the ocean, and Alan was starting to get chilled; time to give Abby one quick look at the Sea Princess, and get her out of here. He picked his way over some smaller rocks, and suddenly stopped, his heart beating wildly in his chest.

Jack had said the Sea Princess had long flowing hair, _just like Abby's mother_ - but how would he know that? Charlie had repeated the park conversation to Alan, and Charlie had said only that Abby's mother was pretty. As far as Alan knew, Abby herself had not spoken to Jack before breakfast.

Alan drew back into the shadow of the large rock, and withdrew his cell phone from his pocket.

**…...**

End, Chapter 10


	11. Fixating

**The Reunion**

**by FraidyCat**

**Chapter 11: Fixating**

Abby willingly took Jack's hand, and let him lead her to the large rock jutting out of the sand. He tucked her into its shadow, and leaned down to speak into her ear. "We're almost there, Abby. You wait right here, out of the wind, and I'll go back and see if your grandfather needs some help."

Her small face dimpled in a smile. "Okay," she agreed easily.

Jack doubled back quickly, to another large, craggy, rock about twenty feet across the damp sand; he scrambled to the top of the 12-foot-high rock. He peeked over the edge just as Alan, standing below, peeked around the side. It was obvious that the old man suspected something, and Jack knew that it was time to get rid of him. He watched Alan bring a cell phone out of his pocket, and frown as he looked at the screen. He shook the phone, put it to his ear, and looked at the screen again. Jack quietly descended the rock, smiling, and thinking about the small battery in his pocket. Alan had called his son from the breakfast table, and left him a voice mail that they were all going for a walk on the beach. Then he had placed the phone on the table, asking Jack to wait for them while he took Abby to the lobby restroom. He had almost _invited_ Jack to take the battery out of his phone — and Jack had been all too happy to oblige.

He heard Alan calling for Abby, who was still tucked out of sight behind the next large rock. "Abby!" Ocean winds snatched Alan's voice away, and he increased his volume, standing near the base of the rock and glancing around the empty beach. "Daddy's waiting, sweetheart! We have to go now!" Alan frowned, and turned in a circle, calling continuously. "Abby! Abagail!"

Jack moved out from behind the rock, smiling as Alan turned in his direction. "She's back here!" he called. "I thought she should get out of the wind."

Alan managed to look relieved, hopeful, and suspicious in rapid succession, but in the end he couldn't resist the lure. He hurried toward Jack. "Good idea," he said, not meeting the man's gaze. "We should be getting back, now." He hurried past Jack, still calling Abby's name — it was almost too easy. All Jack had to do was take one large step, raise one beefy hand to the back of Alan's head, and push. Hard.

Alan didn't even have time to struggle, as his head bounced off the craggy formation. The smile never left Jack's face, as the old man's body went limp, and he slid to the sand at the base of the rock. Jack studied the ocean for a moment; the tide was coming in — soon, all the smaller rocks in the sand would be completely submerged, and only the very tops of the two largest rocks would stick out through the water. Even now, a wave was licking at his feet. He took one last look at the blood running freely from the gash on Alan's forehead.

Then he pivoted, and hurried back to the child.

**…...**

Charlie groaned and reached out to snatch the ringing phone from the bedside table. He should have thought to silence the phone earlier, when he'd sent Abby and Alan to meet Jack for breakfast. He squinted at the phone's screen; two text messages waiting, and an incoming call from Don. He considered letting Don's call go to voicemail, but realized that might cause more headaches than it saved — Don could get worried and call Alan, who would kick his own worry up a notch and come hurrying back to the room...it just wasn't worth it.

He flopped onto his back with a sigh and brought the phone to his ear. "Yeah."

Don's response was a little hesitant. "Charlie? You ok?"

"Migraine," Charlie answered.

Don automatically lowered his voice and spoke quietly in sympathy. "Sorry to hear that, Buddy. Look, I just called to tell you that we've got a good suspect. Larry even found him in the memorial service photographs. We've got an ID now, and we're on this guy."

Charlie swallowed. "Good," he said without inflection. "That's good."

"I knew you'd want to know," Don said. "I had Colby text you his photo. If you don't want to see it right now, I understand; just don't open the message."

Charlie pushed the button to switch Don to speaker and started to access his text messages. "I want to see it," he said, his voice now full of emotion. "I want to see who did this to my wife."

"Remember, this guy is just a suspect right now," warned Don. "Innocent until proven guilty, and all that."

"Message from Dad," Charlie narrated. Then, "Here. Here it is. Message from Colby."

Don was starting to regret the impulsive decision to send Charlie the photo. "Maybe you should just let it go until we talk to the guy," he said. "His permanent address is in Oregon; I've got a call in to the Bureau in Portland."

The photo Colby had sent uploaded to Charlie's phone, and displayed on the screen. His eyes widened, his mouth dropped open in an "O", and he sat straight up in bed, forgetting about the pain in his head. "Mother of God," he said. "That's Jack."

On his end of the conversation, Don stood up abruptly behind his desk in the bullpen. His chair fell over backwards, and Colby and David looked in his direction. "How do you know his name?"

"He's here," Charlie answered, almost before Don finished the question. "He's been here all week. Abby and I even saw him at the city park, yesterday!" Charlie began to hyperventilate. "Oh, my God."

"Jack Warren is there, in Crescent City?" Don repeated. Colby took off in a dead run, hoping Ian Edgerton was still in the conference room, and David picked up his own phone; Walker would have a more direct line to the Crescent City PD than he did. Sinclair began to dial LAPD.

Charlie began to kick at the covers of the bed, struggling to get out. "I sent Dad and Abby to meet him for breakfast almost three hours ago!" he shouted frantically.

Don's heart began to beat wildly, and he worked to calm both his brother and himself down. "He doesn't know that we're on to him," he reminded them both. "He stalked Amita for weeks; months, maybe. Did you say you have a message from Dad?"

Charlie's hands were shaking, but he managed to access the message. "Oh, God," he groaned a few seconds later. "They all went for a walk on the beach."

Don thought for a moment, while Colby and Ian both came rushing into the bullpen. "Okay," he finally said. "Listen to me, Charlie. Listen. Are you listening?"

"Y- yeah," his brother managed.

"First, I want you to calm down. We don't know for certain that this Jack is the guy we want." He exchanged a look with Sinclair — they were more certain now than ever, but it wouldn't help matters any to tell Charlie that. "Then I want you to try to find them. Call Dad's cell — I will, too. Just to be safe, until we know more, get them away from Jack. Then all three of you get the hell out of there. Don't even check out. Just get on the road. You got all that? Charlie?"

Charlie was trying to jerk his pants on with one hand. "Find," he repeated breathlessly. "Extricate. Run."

Don nodded grimly. "And calm. Don't forget to be calm. You don't want to tip this guy off, if he's hinky."

"Calm," laughed Charlie wildly. "Right."

**…...**

Don swore as he listened to his father's voice mail message. "Dad," he barked into the phone. "When you get this, go back to the hotel. Charlie needs you. Get to Charlie." He swore again and tossed the phone onto his desk. He looked up at the sound of Colby snapping his own cell phone shut.

Colby shrugged apologetically. "I got voice mail too. Second time I've called."

Ian stood with his arms crossed over his chest. "Warren's breaking his M.O. again," he said. "The other vics have all been random, not connected to each other in any way. For all we know, he never even had two consecutive vics in the same state. Something pushed him over the edge. He's unpredictable. We don't know what he's going to do - or when he's going to do it."

David swore and slammed the receiver of his phone onto his own desk; all eyes turned toward him. "Crescent City only has twelve cops on its force," he informed them darkly. "Only four are on duty right now, and they're spread all over Del Norte County."

Don made a quick decision, leaning over to grab his phone again. He punched in speed dial #1, and pointed at Edgerton. "You're with me," he said, turning his attention to the phone. "Robin, I need your friend with the Cessna. It's an emergency."

**…...**

Charlie couldn't wait for the elevator. He clattered down the stairs and burst out of stairwell, nearly knocking down two maids on the other side of the door. "Sorry," he said, wondering why there were so many people in the lobby in the middle of the day. "Gotta go to the beach."

"Well, at least you'll have it all to yourself," said one of the women. "Some folks just found some poor old man out there, and everybody's swirling around him, now."

The other maid shook her head and clucked. "Probably should have left him out there till the paramedics got here," she confided, "but the tide was rising, so that group of teenagers just helped him back to the hotel." She nodded toward the lobby fireplace. "Got him over on the couch in front of the fire."

Charlie tried to see around or through the crowd that surrounded the sofa. When he had no luck, he started to push his way through the lobby, in that general direction.

"I thought he was just some drunk homeless guy sleeping on the beach," he heard a young girl say, "but then he told Mike he was staying here in the hotel, so we brought him back. Maybe he has Alzheimer's..."

Charlie missed the rest of the conversation as he finally got a glimpse of the man lying on the couch. His heart thudded to his toes. "Dad!" he called loudly, pushing hard at the desk clerk, who was standing in front of him, a cell phone to his ear. "Dad! Where's Abby? Where's Abby?"

At the sound of Charlie's voice, Alan struggled against hands trying to help him. He sat up on the couch and frantically searched the sea of faces until he locked eyes with his son. His own eyes filled with tears. "They're gone," he sobbed, ignoring the crowd and seeing only Charlie. "God help me, son, they're gone. Jack took her."

Charlie's eyes rolled back in his head, and he dropped to the lobby floor in a dead faint.

**…...**

"Where's my Poppa?" Abby sniffed. "I want to go back to the hotel. I'm cold."

Jack pulled at her hand. "I told you, your Daddy got sick, and Grandpa went back to help him. We're going to meet them at the park. Remember the park?"

Abby tried to pull away from Jack. "It's a long way," she protested. "I don't wanna walk to the park. What's wrong with my Daddy?"

They had climbed the bluff at the end of the beach, made such a wide circle around the hotel that Abby didn't even realize where they were, and were walking in the general direction of the park.

Jack picked up the whining child, and mentally kicked himself. He had acted rashly, and now there were consequences to pay. He could not go back to the hotel for his car. If authorities didn't have his name before, they would as soon as someone checked his hotel registration, and the registration in the car. He had let himself be tempted by the pretty child, and he had made grave errors.

"You squeeze too hard," Abby complained. "I want my Mommy."

Jack frowned; maybe going to the park wasn't a good idea. The father might think to look for them there, if the old man…he relaxed, slightly. The old man was as good as dead, he reminded himself, probably washed out to sea by now. Any footprints Jack and the child had left would also be covered with water, now; authorities would not know they had left the beach together. Tourists had tragic accidents all the time. Still, Jack suddenly altered his plans. "Are you hungry?" he asked. "I see a McDonald's® in the distance. They have playgrounds, too."

Abby had been struggling against his tight hold, but now she settled, and turned wide eyes to him. "Mommy and Daddy don't let me eat there," she confided, excitement edging her voice. "Once, Unca Don did, but it's a secret." She smiled, and Jack felt himself smiling back. Such a lovely, lovely, child. If he could just sit for a few minutes, sit and think, he could find a way to keep her.

"You and I will have a secret, too," he winked. "Would you like that, Abagail?"

"Can I have a Happy Meal? They has toys."

The girl was happy to accompany him now, so Jack lowered her to the ground and took her little hand in his large one. "A Happy Meal it is," he agreed solemnly. "A Happy Meal for a Happy Child."

Abby giggled, and began to skip toward the Golden Arches. "Yay! Thank you, Mr. Jack!"

"You're very welcome," Jack answered. "So much more than you know."

**…...**

End, Chapter 11


	12. Unca Don

**The Reunion**

**by FraidyCat**

**Chapter 12: Unca Don**

Alan finally managed to convince the EMTs that he had been assaulted and left for dead on the beach, and that his granddaughter had been kidnapped. He adamantly refused to go to the hospital for the stitches they insisted he needed, barely sitting still long enough for them to apply a bandage to his forehead. "We have to find her!" he insisted, not even bothering to hide the tears in his eyes. "Please, this man had something to do with my daughter-in-law's murder, I just know it! Please!"

Charlie, revived by smelling salts from the hotel first aid kit before the EMTs even arrived, sat silent and pale on the other end of the couch, nearly catatonic. He hadn't spoken since regaining consciousness, but he winced visibly when Alan said "murder". One of the EMTs had been checking his pupils with a penlight for responsiveness, but now she lowered the tool and glanced at her partner. "Maybe we should call the PD," she suggested.

Her partner nodded and picked up his walkie talkie. Charlie, staring at his lap, whispered miserably. "She's gone," he said. "They're both gone."

Alan shot him a look of dismay. "Don't say that!" he snapped, then looked pleadingly at the paramedic kneeling in front of him. "Please help me up," he demanded. "My son needs me, and my granddaughter needs us both." The pleading expression gave way to a glare when the EMT hesitated to let his patient move. "Help me up. Right. Now."

**…...**

The Cessna 172 Skyhawk was a four-seater. Colby and David had tossed a coin; now Granger squeezed his bulk into one of the four seats and fastened his seatbelt. Ian Edgerton slid in next to him, and they watched Don on the tarmac below, cell phone to his ear. He yanked the cell phone away in a gesture of impatience, swore loudly enough to be heard inside the fuselage, and began to climb into the small aircraft.

"I'm gonna need you to turn that off," the pilot said, almost apologetically. He turned his head toward the other agents already onboard. "All cell phones off, guys. Sorry."

Don slid into a seat and mumbled something unintelligible while he cut the power to the cell. Colby and Ian did the same to their own phones, both glad that they couldn't really hear what Don was saying. Colby placed his phone back into its holder on his belt, and nudged Ian. "Don't know about you, but I wouldn't want to be Jack Warren right about now."

Edgerton grinned in agreement, hooking his own phone onto the waistband of his jeans. "Good news is the same as the bad news," he said. "He's winging it now; he's unpredictable, but he's also sloppy."

Don interrupted their conversation while the pilot closed the aircraft's door and began a final check of the cockpit instruments. "And his ass is mine," he growled. "If he's hurt Dad, or Abby, I'll make him sorry he was ever born."

**…...**

They sat in the darkened theater, and Jack was pleased.

As he had suspected, a few moments of calm reflection had shown him the way. He had let the girl have her Happy Meal, allowed her a few minutes of play, and then had easily persuaded her to walk to the nearby supermarket. He promised her candy, and was only slightly surprised when she said that she would save it for her Daddy. To be loved by this child must be a remarkable experience. Jack happily anticipated the time when _he_ would be the one she saved her special treats for — and ended up buying her three candy bars — one for her father, one for her dead grandfather, and one for Abby herself.

As Jack hoped, there was an ATM in the market, and he withdrew all the cash he could from his account. They would be able to trace it, later, but by the time they got around to it, he and Abby would be long gone. They would charter a small plane at the tiny Crescent City airport, which would take them to LAX. Again, it didn't matter that he would be using his credit card; once they got to LA, the trail would stop. He would pick up his emergency set of ID — after the first few shootings, he had thought for a while that they were on to him, and he had another set of identification made, intending to have it ready and waiting when it was time to start using it. So far, the ID had spent almost an entire lonely year in a safe deposit box in a bank in Los Angeles. LA served as his hub, when he was on his missions — he only stayed in Portland during the off months, and he didn't store any of his rifles or other necessities there. LA was a central location, and big enough that no-one ever noticed anything. Tomorrow morning, his newest ID would go to work.

A taxi was dropping off a fare when they exited the market. Jack splurged, and he and Abby took the cab to another small park in the city — a different park from the one they were in the day before. No sense in courting danger, after all. At the park, Jack sat on a bench and watched Abby play while he made phone calls, confirming a reservation time with a local charter service for later that afternoon. When Abby started to grow bored and began to ask for her Daddy and Poppa again, Jack enticed her with tales of princesses and castles until she was happy again, and agreed to go to a movie with him.

Now, the tired child slept beside him, her blonde head slumped onto his arm, her butter-covered hand secured in his. Jack smiled in the dark, and dreamed of the many days just like this that they would have together. They would eat Happy Meals, play in parks, go to movies, and share tubs of popcorn. They would be happy together. Certainly she would miss them, at first — and Jack would be patient with her. Soon enough, she would come to see him as the one steady thing in her life; her protector; her benefactor; her family.

She would be his forever.

**…...**

The police chief regarded the picture on the screen of Charlie's phone. "You say this came from an FBI agent?"

"Yes," Alan answered, when it became apparent Charlie wasn't even listening to the conversation. "My other son, Don. Well, the message is actually from Colby Granger, who works with Don." He elbowed Charlie hard in the ribs. "Tell the man what Donny said to you."

Charlie staggered half a step, blinked, blinked again, and finally focused on his father. "What?"

Alan forced himself to speak gently, even though he wanted to shake Charlie and shout at the top of his lungs. "Donny. When he called you this morning?"

Charlie turned to face the police chief. "Oh." He swallowed. "He said this was a suspect in my wife's...my wife's... My brother said this man was in pictures taken at her memorial."

The police chief frowned. "Is that all you've got? Your father said your wife was a very popular professor at Cal Sci; I'm sure a lot of people were at that service."

Charlie looked even more crestfallen, if possible, and hung his head to stare at his feet. "He might have said more. He must have more than that, but I can't remember...I'm sorry..."

Alan interrupted, impatient. "I assure you, my son is not in the habit of making false accusations. _He's the Assistant Director of the Los Angeles office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, dammit!_" He took a calming breath and glanced at Charlie. "My youngest son is understandably in shock. And when he talked to his brother, he was in bed with a nasty migraine. We're lucky he can even stand up right now."

"I understand all that," soothed the police chief, "but I have been unable to reach your other son, or this Granger fellow..."

Another officer suddenly jogged up to them, waving a sheet of paper. "Chief," he gasped. "I just got off the phone with an Agent Sinclair at the FBI — he says Agents Eppes and Granger are in the air right now — and LAPD just faxed over this APB on Warren."

The police chief snatched the sheet of paper and studied it, frowning. His face hardened. He looked sympathetically at Alan and Charlie, then began barking orders at his officer. "Call in whoever you have to," he said. "Get copies of this to the bus station, the airport, car rental agencies…Warren's car is still at the hotel, and he's got to get out of here somehow." The officer turned to do as he was ordered, and the chief called out a few more orders. "Impound that vehicle and have it towed over here! Get a picture of the girl to all those places, too! I want an Amber alert; where the hell is Casey? She knows how all that stuff works."

"Lunch," answered the young officer. "But I paged her already; she's on her way back."

Alan smiled grimly and stepped closer to his son, so that he could drape an arm around his thin shoulders and squeeze. "You see, Charlie, it's going to be all right, now. We're going to get Abby back."

Charlie's eyes widened as he looked at his father for a moment, then grabbed the retreating police chief by the sleeve. "I need a computer," he said. "Get me a computer, and Warren's credit card information from the hotel."

**…...**

End, Chapter 11


	13. Friendly Skies

**The Reunion**

**by FraidyCat**

**Chapter 13: Friendly Skies**

Robin nervously smoothed her skirt, tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear, and took a deep breath before she rapped sharply on the closed door. There was no verbal response to her knock, but within moments the door was opened. Jane smiled at her reassuringly and opened the door wider, ushering Robin into the small and peaceful room.

"Come in," Jane said quietly. "We've been expecting you."

"Thank you," murmured Robin, taking a few steps into the room. She was a little surprised by the room's cheerfulness. "This is a lovely room," she blurted, then blushed. "I'm sorry," she said to the sallow young woman lying in the bed. "I should introduce myself. I'm Robin Brooks-Eppes." She approached the bed with a frozen smile on her face, and offered her hand.

The woman didn't return the gesture, but stared at Robin with a slightly suspicious interest. "You got a husband?" Her eyes flickered to Jane. "Ain't he supposed to be here?"

Robin backed away from the bed, bumped into a nearby chair, and more or less fell into it. "Oops," she whispered, feeling every inch the fool. What a horrible mistake this had been. "Is it all right if I sit down?"

The woman in bed let a small grin pass over her face. "Relax, lady. Have a seat."

Robin fumbled with her purse, found her wallet, and withdrew the picture of Don she had brought with her. She hesitated as she looked at it — it was the formal Bureau photo the FBI had taken when Don was named Assistant Director. Don was handsome in his three-piece suit, but the pose was unnatural, formal. She should have brought something else. _Too late now_, she chided herself, leaning toward the bed. She offered the small photograph to the woman in the bed. "This is my husband, Don. He planned to be here, but there was a...family emergency. I'm sure he'll want to meet you as soon as he can."

The young woman studied the photograph for a few moments, until her hand began to shake, and she let it fall back to the bed. "Looks important," she observed. "Fancy clothes."

Robin let the woman keep the photograph and dug through her purse for her wallet, again. "I probably shouldn't have brought that picture," she prattled. "That was taken when Don was promoted, but he's usually much more informal." She found what she was looking for and pulled another photo out of her wallet. "Here," she said, leaning forward to exchange photos with the young woman. "I'm not in this picture, because I had the camera." She forced herself to chuckle. "I took that last summer, at our 4th of July barbecue — it's a long-standing family tradition." She pointed to the various smiling faces in the photograph. "There's Don, again — this is what he usually looks like — and this is his father, Alan. Don is holding Abagail, his brother Charlie's little girl...and the others, there, that's Charlie and his wife, Amita."

A lazy smile settled around the woman's mouth. "Pretty little girl," she said. "She seems real happy with your husband. That's good." She handed the picture back to Robin. "Amita? Ain't never heard that name, before."

Robin carefully returned the photo to her wallet, swallowing. "It's an Indian name," she said softly. "It means _'endless'_..."

"Cherokee?" the woman asked, and Robin paused for a moment. "No, not American Indian," she finally said, when she caught the train of thought. "Amita's family is from the country of India."

While the woman grunted in understanding, Robin inhaled another deep breath, glanced quickly at the social worker, and then back to the bed. "You should know," she said, "because I don't want you to feel I'm hiding anything..."

The suspicious expression was back. "Yeah?"

Robin cleared her throat and continued. "Don and I have always been very close to Abby. She spends a lot of time with us. That's especially important now, because a few weeks ago...Amita was murdered. That's why Don couldn't be here, today; Charlie and Abby needed him. Anyway, we intend to do everything we can to make sure Abby grows up knowing she had a mommy who loved her very much. We'll tell her stories, and show her pictures, and always make sure our endless Amita is part of the equation." By now, the woman's suspicious expression had been replaced with one of sadness. Robin pressed on. "I want you to know, we would do the same for your child. She would always know how selfless and special her mommy was, and how very much you loved her."

The room was silent for so long, Robin wondered if she should just get up and leave. Finally, the woman spoke. "So it will be kind-of like Lesley has a big sister," she said. "She'll grow up real close to her cousin."

"She will," Robin promised, her heart thumping wildly at the woman's use of the present tense.

"I always wanted a sister," the young mother mused. "I always thought it would be nice to have someone on your side, you know?"

Robin nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat.

The woman focused pain-filled eyes on Robin. "You know I don't want no money. Save your money, so's Lesley can go to college, maybe. One reason I went with this private adoption thing was so's I could meet Lesley's new family, pick 'em out myself."

"I understand," Robin affirmed. "I imagine I would want to do that for my child, if I could."

Lesley's mother nodded. "I read your files. I know that you're a fancy lawyer, and your husband is a cop..."

"I would stop working, at least for a while," Robin interrupted, "and now that Don's been promoted, his hours are much more predictable, and his job is less dangerous..."

The woman seemed to ignore her statements. "Jane told me about you losing that baby boy, too. I guess you must be scared, even coming here."

"Terrified," Robin admitted.

The woman nodded again, closing her eyes for a few moments. Her forehead creased in pain. "I'm awful tired," she said, her eyes still closed. "Don't want Lesley to see me like this."

The social worker spoke for the first time. "I'll bring her back for a visit whenever you feel up to it, Karen. I'm glad you got to see her for a few minutes this morning."

Karen opened her eyes, but didn't look at either woman. She stared at the ceiling, but Robin could see the glistening of suppressed tears in her eyes. "Just take Mrs. Eppes here to the girl. Nurses are playing with her, I think."

"Yes; I know where they are," murmured Jane.

Karen closed her eyes again. "I'm gonna sleep now, but you come back later, and tell me how you like her. Maybe your husband can come."

Robin stood on shaking legs, dangerously close to crying herself. "I will," she promised, "but I'm sure Lesley is a beautiful child. She has a brave and beautiful mother."

**…...**

Charlie and Alan were waiting on the tarmac, a tall, middle-aged man standing nearby. Don had seen them through the aircraft's window as they taxied to a stop, and he nearly jumped off the small plane before the hydraulic steps were lowered. He left Colby and Ian to their own devices and jogged across the tarmac, gathering both his father and his brother into a hug as soon as he reached them. "We'll take care of this." He tried to say everything at once. "Dad, are you sure you're all right? Charlie, I promise you, we'll find Abby!"

Charlie pulled away from his brother and began to speak excitedly. "Donny, he's coming here! I traced his credit and debit cards; he used an ATM, took a taxi — he chartered a plane! His flight leaves in less than two hours!"

Don stepped back, one hand still gripping his father's forearm. "What?"

The tall stranger approached and insinuated himself into the conversation. "Agent Eppes. Carl Davis, police chief here in Crescent City. Your brother can do some pretty impressive stuff pretty damn fast with a computer."

Don just stared at him, his mouth hanging slightly open. Ian and Colby had caught up to the group, and now Don heard Colby snicker. "You don't have any idea. Give the Whiz Kid a couple of numbers, and it's all over for the bad guy."

Davis smiled briefly. "Well, we got some of those numbers from the hotel; then Charlie called an Agent Sinclair in your office and had all the information you have regarding the suspect e-mailed to my computer. Didn't take Charlie long at all to get a hit."

Charlie interrupted, grabbing frantically at Don's sleeve. "None of that matters! We talked to the charter service, and Warren booked a flight to LAX, for himself and his granddaughter! Don't you see?"

"I ain't got many officers," Davis interjected. "Got six of my people stationed around the airport, plain clothes; evacuated the civilians."

"Won't that look suspicious?" Don asked.

Davis shook his head. "Nah. This ain't exactly an international airport — and Warren's charter doesn't leave until almost 7 p.m.; place is always like a grave..." He glanced apologetically at Charlie, and quickly chose another word. "...deserted, by that time."

Don thought quickly, as he had been trained to do. "Charlie. Dad. The three of us need to get out of sight."

Charlie started to protest, but Ian backed Don's play. "He's right. Warren has been stalking your family for weeks; he'll recognize you. Abby will certainly recognize you; trust me, you don't want that."

Charlie blinked back tears of frustration. "I can't just watch him take her!"

"I never said you would," Ian answered, turning slightly to face the police chief. "Davis, my rifle is on that Cessna we just came in on. Get it through security for me ASAP; Granger and I are going up to the control tower. If your people don't find a way to stop Warren before he hits the tarmac, I'll drop him."

"He could be carrying Abby!" Charlie exclaimed.

"One of my men is in the aircraft," Davis told him. "I'll tell him to find a way to make Warren put the girl down, if he is. Boarding regulations, or somethin'."

Charlie still didn't look happy, but Davis turned away from him anyway, and nodded to Ian. "Come on, young feller. Let's go get that weapon."

**…...**

End, Chapter 13


	14. Boarding Pass

**The Reunion**

**by FraidyCat**

**Chapter 14: Boarding Pass**

A gutteral, almost primal, grunt came from Charlie, and Don glanced at his brother sympathetically. Charlie's expression was a mixture of fear and longing, as the three Eppes huddled on the floor of the charter service's small office. They were crammed out of sight, behind the desk, but when Charlie heard footsteps in the outer office, he had risked a peek around the corner of the desk. From his reaction, Don was guessing Jack Warren was at the front counter, and that Charlie had seen his daughter. Although he was reluctant to do so, Don reached out and firmly grabbed Charlie's upper arm, jerking his body back into full seclusion. _"Don't screw this up now," _he mouthed to his brother. Charlie looked away, raising a shaking hand to wipe at a tear rolling down his cheek; then he hung his head and squeezed his eyes tightly shut. Don exchanged a look with his father, shrugging slightly in apology. The eldest Eppes simply nodded, reaching across Don to touch Charlie briefly.

All three of them listened to the police officer — a sergeant — who was working the front counter. "I just need some information for the manifest," she said, and Don heard the rustling of paper. "Your granddaugther has such beautiful blonde hair. I can hold her for you, while you fill this out, if you want."

Don held his breath for a moment, letting it out slowly when he heard Warren's voice for the first time. "No, thank you. She's a light sleeper." Don heard something being placed on the counter. "Here's my identification — couldn't you fill out the form for me? I really don't want to wake my girl."

Don felt Charlie stiffen at Warren's proprietory statement, and he placed a calming hand on Charlie's knee. This time when he looked at Charlie, the outrage on his brother's face took him aback, a little. He couldn't recall ever seeing Charlie look so angry; not even when Amita had been shot.

Sgt. Casey Martin tried again. "Of course," she said, and Don heard the scratching of a pen on paper begin. "The only thing worse than a tired child is one who's whining to go to the bathroom," Don heard over the scratching. "The flight to LAX is short, but there are no facilities aboard the aircraft. Perhaps you _should_ wake her; I can take her to the ladies' room."

"Thank you again, but if she wakes up before we board, she can go by herself," Warren answered. He even chuckled a little. "This place isn't exactly teeming with activity. I'm sure she'll be safe enough."

_Don't push him too far_, Don thought to himself. _Don't make him suspicious._ As if she had heard him, the officer backed off her efforts to get her hands on Abby. "No," she laughed, "we're not usually very busy, especially after 5. I just stayed late because I knew you were coming in, and I had some paperwork to catch up on." Don heard the flutter of paper, again. "There. I think I have all your information..."

"Thank you," Warren said. "For staying late, and for helping me. I'm afraid my granddaughter doesn't have her driver's license or passport, yet. She's only three."

Don imagined that Sgt. Martin was smiling at the piece of shit that called itself Jack Warren. "Oh, we're not quite as picky as the major airlines. Of course we have to follow TSA protocols, but for a short domestic hop like this, all we really need is her name and address. Although you should probably get her identification soon, if you plan to do much traveling. I'm surprised LAX let you through, even on a charter flight."

"We drove," Warren answered, then stuttered a bit as he thought on his feet. "Our car...broke down, and I need to get back to LA for work. No time to rent another vehicle." His speech was speeding up as he fabricated his story. "Anyway. It's _Abagail Warren_, same address. Her mother died, you see, so the child lives with me."

"What a shame," murmured the officer. Don could feel Charlie's body start to shake, either with anguish or hatred. Probably both. He tightened his grip on his brother's arm. More footfalls sounded as another person entered the office, and the police officer's tone of voice brightened. "Here's Manny. He can take your luggage out to the aircraft.'

Warren cleared his throat. " I...sent it ahead, on the bus. I thought there might not be enough room on the aircraft, so I just kept out a few things for the child. Toys, mostly. We can carry this onboard, correct?"

"Yeah." Don heard a man answer, and reasoned that it must be Manny, another masquerading police officer. He heard more rustling, slightly different this time — perhaps a plastic shopping bag was exchanging hands. "Just let me check this through security, in case you're packing a Barbie bomb or something."

Warren chuckled. "Of course. Lead the way." His voice faded as he spoke, and two sets of footsteps indicated that the two men were leaving the office. Don kept a grip on Charlie until Sgt. Martin stepped into the small cubicle and came around behind the desk. "I'm sorry," she said quietly, glancing guiltily at Charlie and then looking at Don. "I tried to get him to let me take the girl."

"You did fine," Don assured her. "Too insistent, and you would've made him suspicious."

"Manny will wait for him to pass through security, and then escort him to the aircraft."

"Won't he have to put her down and let her walk through security herself?" asked Alan.

The officer frowned. "Not at a small airport like this. The officer posing at the security station will just run a wand over the suspect and his bag, then wave them on through. We thought about trying to set up something more like what you're used to seeing in the larger airports — but we don't know how educated your guy is. He might fly small charters all the time; he may have even been through Crescent City before, and understand what qualifies as normal operation."

Don nodded. "Good call," he murmured.

Charlie suddenly scrambled to his feet, shaking off Don's hand. "That monster is not taking my daughter," he said, hurrying toward the door. "He's taken too much already."

**…...**

Abby stirred in Warren's arms, repositioned her head on his shoulder and lazily opened her eyes to regard the stranger before her. Manny smiled at her, and she smiled back. "Who are you?" she asked, yawning, and Warren tightened his grip on her.

"My name is Manny," the officer answered. "I'm taking you and your grandfather out to the airplane."

Abby frowned. This didn't feel like grandpa. She lifted her head and reared back far enough to see Jack Warren's face, they looked around the nearly deserted airport. "Where's Poppa?" she demanded loudly, and started struggling to get down.

Warren stiffened. They were on the tarmac now; the small aircraft that would take them to their new life was just a few feet away. "Settle down, child," he said quietly, slowing his step so that Manny wouldn't hear their conversation. "We're going home, to LA, and I will take you to see your grandfather when we get there. But you must call me 'Grandpa Jack' from now on, all right?"

Abby stopped struggling when she noticed the awaiting charter. "Is Daddy there too?" she asked.

Warren nodded. "We're all playing a game with daddy. Hide-and-seek."

Abby giggled. "I always win," she confided, then started swinging her little legs, struggling again to get down onto the tarmac. "I walk!" she semi-shouted, and one kick connected to Jack's crotch. The three-year-old's kick wasn't strong enough to be disabling, but Warren grunted and quickly bent to place the child on the ground. "Hold my hand, then," he gasped, slowly stretching to his full height. He latched onto Abby's hand at the same moment that he saw Charlie step out from behind the aircraft.

**…...**

Don couldn't yell at Charlie without tipping Jack Warren off. He barely stopped himself from shouting after his brother anyway, and was only halfway to his feet when he heard a quick intake of air from his father. Don fell back and managed to clamp his hand over Alan's mouth just as the older man called for his youngest son. By the time Alan shook Don off and the two oldest Eppes had gained their feet, Charlie was long gone.

After one last look at his sleeping daughter, who was just entering the security checkpoint on Warren's shoulder, Charlie ran out the main door of the small terminal, careened around the building, and hesitated at the edge of the tarmac. There were two small planes on the tarmac, and he wasn't sure which one was Warren's. Finally he decided to make a mad dash to the nearest one, a Cessna 172 that looked remarkably similar to the one Don, Colby, and Ian had come in on. The call letters painted on the side were different, though; Charlie's photographic memory for all things numeric told him that.

He ran for the aircraft as if is feet were on fire. The officer posing as the pilot had radioed his police chief as soon as he saw the body flying across the tarmac; by the time Charlie arrived, the officer knew who he was, and also that Manny was leading Warren toward the tarmac.

The Crescent City police officer climbed out of the cockpit and waited for Charlie at the nose of the aircraft. As soon as he could reach the professor, he latched onto Charlie's shirt and dragged him toward the back of the aircraft. "Your brother told me to kick your ass," he shouted into Charlie's ear, "but I don't have time right now. What the hell are you doing?"

"He's not taking my daughter!" Charlie shouted back.

The officer positioned Charlie behind one of the plane's wheels. "Just stand here and shut up. Don't let him see your feet. I gotta get back in the aircraft." The officer considered handcuffing Charlie's ankle to the wheelbase, but decided it would be faster just to put the fear of God into him. He drew close to Charlie and spoke directly into his ear. "If you ever want to see your kid again, you will not screw this up any more than you already have. Stand here and let me do my job, dammit. Do you understand?" He waited until Charlie nodded, his face pale and his eyes wide, before he ran back around the plane.

**…...**

Ian watched through his rifle scope as Charlie flew across the tarmac. "What the hell is he doing?" he growled.

Granger focused the binoculars and swore. "It was a mistake not to tie him up as soon as we got here," he answered, then interrupted himself as the earbud in his ear cackled with sound. "Warren's through security," he announced. "Officer Alvez is bring him out the east door."

Edgerton watched Charlie for a few more seconds, hoping whatever Officer Raynor was yelling at him, as he planted him behind the aircraft, was making an impression. Then Ian retrained his rifle to a position a few feet in front of the plane, and waited for Jack Warren.

**…...**

Charlie knew the officer was right; he should stay hidden behind the aircraft's wheel. As soon as Officer Raynor was out of sight, though, Charlie dropped to his stomach on the tarmac surface. His thin body was still hidden by the wheel, and now he could peek out from behind it to watch Warren and Abagail approach the aircraft.

Charlie saw Abby wake up, and begin her struggles to get down. Like most children, Abagail preferred to stand on her own two feet whenever she could, so he wasn't surprised to see the little girl start swinging her legs. When Warren suddenly folded, setting Abby onto her feet; Charlie scrambled quickly to his own feet, and ran in a half crouch to the end of the plane.

**…...**

Jack Warren could count the number of times he'd been surprised in his life, using the fingers of one hand. Recognizing Charlie's curly head when the professor popped out from behind the aircraft definitely qualified as one of those times; but he thought quickly, and dragged Abby back towards him.

Perhaps he thought _too_ quickly. His action was completely unexpected by the toddler, who lost her balance and fell onto the tarmac. Jack swore over the girl's started cries, and bent to gather her into his arms.

He didn't even feel the bullet that took him down.

**…...**

"Shit," complained Ian. "I wasn't even going for a kill shot. Bastard leaned over at the last second - my shoulder shot ended up a head shot."

Colby smiled behind his binoculars. "Noticed that. Damn shame," he said, watching Officer Alvarez place himself between Abby and Warren. Raynor had once again left the aircraft and was jogging toward them. Abby looked up from her position on the tarmac, bewildered, and recognized her father running toward her. Skinned knee forgotten, the child smiled brightly, climbed to her feet, and ran to meet Charlie just a few feet in front of the plane. Colby could see Alan and Don in the distance, running toward the melee on the tarmac. "That's gonna look bad in your jacket," he said, still smiling. "Lots of paperwork, too."

Ian lowered his rifle, watching Abby leap into Charlie's arms, and grinned. "I can live with it," he said.

**…...**

End, Chapter 14


	15. Epilogue

**The Reunion**

**by FraidyCat**

**Chapter 16: Epilogue**

_**Four Months Later…**_

Alan paused at the kitchen door of the Craftsman, a bowl of potato salad in one hand, and a bag of potato chips in the other. He gazed over the lawn and smiled. There was a time, after the boys had grown up, but before they got married, when the lawn had been a work of art. There had never been a gardener — he and Margaret both enjoyed working outside too much for that — but still, the grass had always been freshly mowed, its edges were trimmed and neat, and Margaret's roses and Alan's koi pond had been the talk of the neighborhood. Even now, there was no cause for embarrassment. Between Alan and Charlie, the grass never grew too long…although the edging didn't always get done. The koi pond was still well-stocked and the fish were healthy…but there was a fence around it now, to keep the girls out of trouble. Some of Margaret's roses still thrived; mostly the ones in the front yard. Abby had dug up about half of the ones back here just a few months ago — when another child at the Cal Sci daycare had convinced her that China, and the other side of the world, lie just a few inches under the dirt.

Yet as Alan hovered in the doorway and looked out over the lawn, he didn't think he had ever seen it look better. Charlie stood behind the barbecue, no doubt coming to scientific conclusions regarding the proper formula for cooking eight hamburgers and three hot dogs on the same grill, so that they all were done at the same precise moment. Nearby, and slightly behind his location, Abby stood behind a picnic table that sat in the shade of Alan's former "man-cave". Since Amita's death, Alan had more or less moved back into the house; although occasionally he still retreated to the small guest house for a little peace and quiet. Either girls were a lot louder than boys — something he never would have believed, before — or it had been a long time since his sons were children. Abby was watching her father's back warily, and Alan's smile broadened as he watched the Birthday Girl open the cardboard lid of the bakery box Robin had placed on the table. The fall day was warm, but not uncomfortably hot; still, Alan decided he'd better bring the beautifully decorated Princess cake into the house on his next trip. He watched Abby lick a gob of frosting off her finger, and hoped there would be some left for the rest of them — he had seen her lurking by the picnic table earlier, come to think of it.

Don and Robin had set up a small camp on the other side of the yard. They sat side-by-side in lawn chairs, clasped hands resting on the arm of Don's chair. Robin sipped at a lemonade while Don nursed a beer. An overflowing diaper bag sat on the ground beside Robin's chair, and a large blanket was spread at their feet. The blanket was littered with toys, a few stuffed animals, a smaller blanket — and 10-month-old Lesley, who just last week had taken her first steps, not to be outdone by her cousin, who had also walked at 10 months. Lesley was concentrating hard, trying to force a square peg through a round hole in her shape sorter, but she dropped the peg and giggled wildly when PiRSquare, a young cocker spaniel Charlie had given Abby as an early birthday present a few months earlier, raced across the edge of Lesley's blanket. A frosting-free Abby raced along behind him, pausing long enough to bend over and smile happily at her cousin. "Come on, Lesley! Help me catch Pi!" Abby took off again, and Lesley began to crawl after her. Don managed to hand his beer to Robin and scoop up the child before she got out of reach. She squirmed in protest, but was soon shrieking in almost convulsive laughter and gibberish as she sat on her father's lap, at the mercy of his tickles.

Alan lingered in the doorway, his smile fading as he thought of the two women who were missing from the celebration. His missed them both — he always would — but he knew their lights shone on, reflected in their children and grandchildren. There had not been a day of Abby's short life that Alan did not thank God for her — and even though Lesley was not a biological grandchild, he was pleased to discover that he felt the same all-consuming love for her. His eyes misted as he watched his family.

Later tonight, after the family celebration, good friends would arrive to make the day complete. Amita's death and Abby's close call had impacted everyone. Larry had decided to return to Cal Sci, and David had transferred permanently back to the LA office, where he headed his own team. Both men would come over later, along with Colby, and Liz. Megan was even coming to LA for a few days of much-deserved vacation, although she wouldn't arrive until the next week. Alan was looking forward to seeing her again; he knew that she had arranged the timing of this visit so that she could spend some time with Charlie and Abby, and Alan was grateful for that.

He glanced again at Charlie. His son was no longer looking at the meat on the grill, but was standing, arms crossed over his chest, looking off into the distance, seemingly at nothing. Alan could imagine what — or whom — Charlie was seeing. Amita had only been gone four months, after all, and this was the first major family celebration without her. Considering everything, both Charlie and Abby were coping well. Abby still talked about her Mommy, and she had spent some time in a children's bereavement group. She also spent a great deal of time with Robin, and even Liz had stepped up to make sure the little girl had some female role models. For his part, Charlie had returned to teaching, and took his consulting gigs a lot more seriously, always thinking of the families of victims, and potential victims. Alan wished Charlie would also spend time with a bereavement group, but as yet, his son had not gone that route — which wasn't really too much of a surprise. Charlie had never been much of a group person; he had stood out from the crowd for so long, he no longer felt comfortable in one.

Yes, Alan hoped that having Megan here for awhile would help his son continue to heal.

Yipping madly, PiRSquare suddenly turned toward the house; in seconds, he was squeezing between Alan's legs and disappearing inside. A breathless Abby was not far behind. Alan had time to firm up his stance before she collided with his leg. "Poppa, can you help me catch Pi? I think he would fit into my new Princess dress."

Alan rolled his eyes, and not for the first time, felt a little sorry for the dog. "Abagail Marie," he chided. "Remember what Daddy and I have told you about being nice to the dog."

Abby looked up at him, a slightly confused expression on her small face. "But it's a pretty dress!"

Alan stopped himself from smiling. "Yes, it is, sweetheart. But it's a dress for little girls. Little dogs have their own clothes."

Her eyes lit up. "Can we get some?"

Alan distracted her by shoving the bag of potato chips at her. "Leave poor Pi alone for a minute and help me take some things out to the table. It's almost time for your birthday picnic!"

Abby grinned. "Yay! Let's have cake first."

"But Daddy is cooking you a hot dog, like you asked," answered Alan, gesturing toward Charlie. His son was looking at them now, a small smile on his face, and Alan waved.

Abby crushed at least half of the potato chips on the way to the table, but Alan didn't care. He was in his own back yard, surrounded by the people he loved most in the world, anticipating the arrival of good friends. He was old enough to understand that life hurt you, sometimes — and sometimes, it gave you sons, and they gave you daughters, and they gave you granddaughters.

He treasured the memories of Margaret, and Amita, and he was daily blessed by the pieces of themselves they had left behind. He was thankful for every day he had with each one of them. He placed the potato salad on the table and winked at Charlie as he moved to pick up the birthday cake. "Let me take this into the kitchen and grab a platter for the meat," he called.

Charlie began to drape slices of cheddar cheese over a few of the hamburgers. "Better check on Pi," he answered. "Abby just snuck inside."

**…...**

The End


End file.
